Chained World 02: Saving Grace
by Narsil
Summary: Sequel to Chained World: The Fall of the House of Kuno. Allmost a year since the Nerima Blowout and for some people, such as Nerima's premier martial artist, it's been difficult to move on. Then a raid on a formerly-Kuno now-Meioh plantation in southeast Asia reveals a secret that threatens everything they've built, and ready or not it's up to Ranma to save the day.
1. Shackled and Chained

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Naoko Takeuchi.

This is a sequel to _Chained World: The Fall of the House of Kuno_. If you haven't read that story you'll need to, you'll be lost if you don't; it's available at Your Fanfiction (author name Anduril). Also, I will be posting this story there, and there will be a few lemons—but not here. So a few chapters here will be a little short, and maybe choppy. When I post one of those chapters, I'll let you know.

* * *

"If liberty, with us, is yet but a name, our citizenship is but a sham, and our suffrage thus far only a cruel mockery, we may yet congratulate ourselves upon the fact, that the laws and institutions of the country are sound, just and liberal. There is hope for a people when their laws are righteous, whether for the moment they conform to their requirements or not. But until this nation shall make its practice accord with its Constitution and its righteous laws, it will not do to reproach the colored people of this country with keeping up the colored line — for that people would prove themselves scarcely worthy of even theoretical freedom, to say nothing of practical freedom, if they settled down in silent, servile and cowardly submission to their wrongs, from fear of making their color visible...

"Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow."

— Frederick Douglass, speech at the National Convention of Colored People, 1883

* * *

The muggy heat and insects buzzing around him when they weren't crawling on him weren't much like the American Southwest desert he knew and loved (okay, the _presence_ of insects was the same, though there seemed to be a lot more of them), but Juan de Oro grinned savagely as he carefully observed the Sumatran plantation house from the undergrowth — undergrowth that was _much_ too close to the buildings. Sumatra was the westernmost island in the province that the Empire of Japan called Daerah Selatan ("Southern Territories" in one of the native languages) and English maps labeled Indonesia. It was also the furthest _east_ that Islam had reached, and the only majority Muslim territory not currently under the official control of Dar al-Islam and so of prime interest to the Sultan. Especially since it wasn't as Muslim as it had been, thanks in part to the efforts of Shinto Christian missionaries and in part to the suspicious attention of the Imperial authorities to Muslims of all stripes.

But apparently that wasn't cause for concern for the manager of _this_ particular rubber plantation, whatever the Shogun's mandate that the Clans controlling territory in the province maintain an effective military presence for its defense. Dar al-Islam seemed to be more interested in its west — Europe and Africa — strengthening the defenses and building up the military there, and it had been a _long_ time since Daerah Selatan's last internal revolt. Yes, a massive power realignment had recently convulsed the Empire and the new laws everyone knew the Emperor had forced the Shogun to institute — whatever the official line — interfered with the multi-generational debt slavery used by the Clans in Daerah Selatan to provide cheap labor. But in spite of that times were still good and the upper management that had gotten fat, lazy, and careless hadn't changed in the few months since, not in less than a year.

_Time to wake them all up,_ de Oro thought. The American — more so than most, half Spanish, half the ethnic mélange called the Apache — had arrived in Sumatra shortly after what had come to be known as the Nerima Blowout (a safe name, one not including words like "uprising" or "rebellion" — something that made everyone happy, _especially_ the Imperial authorities). He had been cautiously optimistic that the "fellow traveler" in the Underground Railroad, one that agreed with the Children of Israel's goals but felt personally called to a more … peaceful … ministry, had been right, that the province was ripe for his type of crusade. He had found that, if anything, his informant had understated the situation. The way that most of the Clans with holdings in Daerah Selatan had promptly started twisting the Empire's new slave laws to maintain their power had many in the populace ready for open revolt if they were properly led, and Juan de Oro was ready to provide that leadership. He had spent the following almost nine months preparing bases hidden in the jungle, opening lines of supply and communication independent of the pacifistic Underground Railroad, and recruiting and training the first of his rebels (mostly runaway slaves already living hand-to-mouth in the jungle).

But all the groundwork had _finally_ been completed, at least well enough to open the dance, and all he had needed was the right example to get things started on the proper foot. A murderously abusive overseer and a manager eager to hide the crime had provided that opportunity — and best of all, the plantation belonged to Clan Meioh (if you could call a woman, a girl, and a young man/woman and his wife a "clan").

Then a soft click sounded in his earbug, followed by the voice of Ismail ibn Manzoor, one of the scouts he had watching the road leading to the plantation. _"Incoming vehicles."_

De Oro sighed. "Trained well enough" was not the same as "well-trained." He pressed the switch to broadcast in his scrambled channel. "Scout Two, you're supposed to identify yourself and the intended target of your report. How many vehicles?"

"_Sorry, Strike One,"_ Ismallah replied, his embarrassment clear even through the distortion caused by the scrambling. _"Three vehicles, the first and last armed with mounted machine guns."_

"Understood, Scout One, three vehicles." That sounded promisingly like the usual self-important parade Sugiyama Kenichi, the Meioh manager, liked to indulge in. It wasn't exactly safe to be walking along the road when Sugiyama made his little expeditions to town — the guards in the lead and tail armored cars liked to use the mounted machine guns to shoot up stray dogs they passed, and since that was pretty much the only practice they got it was usually safer to be the dogs than anything else in the vicinity.

_God only knows how they've avoided killing anyone,_ de Oro thought grimly. He should be happy that his enemies were so incompetent, but that kind of arrogant disregard for others just made him feel sick. _With a little luck, at least _these_ arrogant pricks won't ever terrorize anyone again._

Then the three vehicles (not trucks but too big and heavy to be cars, not even considering the two with machine guns mounted on reinforced roofs) roared into the circle in front of the plantation house's veranda. They circled to stop in front, and a large, muscular man stepped out of the middle vehicle. Sugiyama had been an overseer before he'd moved up to management, and he'd kept himself in shape — something common in Daerah Selatan, where majority of the population stuck in debt slavery kept their "betters" from sleeping easy at night, however much they like to put on a show of unconcern. He waited for a moment as a bodyguard stepped out of the other side of his vehicle and walked around to join him, then headed up the low steps and into the house as all three vehicles roared away, around the back of the plantation house to the garage.

De Oro sensed Lesmana, the new recruit beside him tensing up (but then, they were almost all new recruits). "Easy, wait for it," he murmured, then thought that his overeager newbie probably wasn't the only one and clicked on his mike, murmuring, "All points, Strike One. Wait for my signal, people, don't jump the gun."

Then a couple of large, burly men walked around the house, laughing, military-grade assault rifles slung over their shoulders. More bodyguards, coming from the garage where they'd parked the vehicles. They walked up onto the veranda, leaned their rifles against the wall, and sat in chairs on each side of the large door. Perfect.

"Overview, Strike One. Lock them out."

A few minutes later, Jason Davidson's response came back: _"Strike One, Overview. The target is locked out. I repeat, the target is locked out."_

De Oro's grin turned shark-lethal — the plantation had just had its communications with the rest of the world cut: landline, wireless, all of it. "Overview, Strike One, acknowledged." Switching to the all-points band, he snarled, "All points, Strike One. Go! Go! Go!"

Even as he shouted his order he was bouncing to his feet with his own assault rifle in hand, and the two lounging guards on the veranda jerked erect as six men and one woman exploded out of the undergrowth to charge straight at them, screaming like banshees and every one carrying an assault rifle of his or her own.

One of the guards was as stunned as de Oro had hoped but the other recovered almost instantly, grabbing his rifle and springing to his feet. De Oro slid to a halt and raised his rifle to his shoulder to walk a quick three-round burst across the man's torso from hip to shoulder, knocking him back into his seat and spraying the wall behind him with blood.

That finally shook the second guard free from his shock, and he twisted to reach for his rifle. De Oro tracked him, finger ready on the trigger. _Wait for it, wait for it..._ And then the guard went down as a hail of bullets from the rifles of de Oro's six compatriots on full auto slammed into the area around him, splinters from the floor and wall filling the air and his blood coating the wall as his rifle spun away.

_Yes, I _knew_ it would work!_ de Oro exulted. The Empire's mental Adjustment of its slaves to make them incapable of attacking anyone and violence against their masters under any circumstances had a major hole that, so far as he could tell, he was the first to exploit: the general Adjustment didn't cover _defensive_ violence except from attacks by the slaves' owners, and it didn't care _why_ the slaves were being attacked. So as soon as the guards had become threats by reaching for their rifles, the lock on the six still-Adjusted runaway slaves had ceased to apply. The fact that the slaves in question were carrying rifles while charging the guards screaming at the top of their lungs didn't matter at all.

At least, that had been the theory. It was nice to see it prove out in practice.

"Places, people!" he snapped as the shooting he could now hear from the other side of the house ended with the crash of the back door being kicked in, to an accompaniment of screams from the plantation's all-female house slaves. The woman and man at opposite ends of his ragged line turned around to scan the area behind them for threats while the three men in the middle leveled their guns at the house. De Oro glanced over the two corpses, frowning at the one whose blood had liberally coated the wall and chair behind him. "And switch out your magazines." _Now I just need to get the lessons on using short, targeted bursts instead of spray and pray to stick,_ he thought wryly, as the now shamefaced rebels obeyed.

Satisfied that his own piece of the action was under control, he clicked on his mike. "Overview, Strike One. Have the other strikes reported in yet?

"_Reporting now, boss, hold on."_ A few minute's silence, and Jason continued, _"They've both reported successful missions, though Strike Three had three casualties, one dead — the guards at the lab were actually semi-alert. They are delivering their targets now."_

De Oro winced at the report of the death, but brightened up again with a grin as the house's front door swung open and the plantation manager was pushed out to stumble across the veranda and roll down the low steps to land sprawling in the driveway. Considering how green most of his people were only one death was actually good news, and shortly the world would again learn that there were limits. "And one of my targets just arrived. Strike One out."

/\

Though his calm exterior didn't change when the last, late strike group came around the house, pushing along a stumbling man wearing a lab coat with his hands handcuffed behind his back, de Oro felt himself relax — except for the scouts he'd stationed on the roads leading to the plantation to intercept anyone trying to leave, everyone was gathered together again where he could keep an eye on them. Then he tightened up again when he realized that the squad leader, a black man named George Washington who claimed to be descended from one of the slaves of the Great Man whose name he bore, one of the men that had accompanied him from the United States, was carrying someone wrapped in a blanket in his arms and walking so carefully he was almost tiptoeing.

"Take your places," George ordered. He walked over to de Oro as one of the squad shoved their captive, Dr. Okuda Keiso, over to the wall and forced him down onto his knees beside the plantation manager, the doctor that had been in the plantation house, and the overseer the second squad had brought in earlier. Another of the squad joined the line of rebels facing the prisoners while the rest spread out and vanished into the undergrowth.

"Miiko?" de Oro asked when George and his blanket-wrapped bundle joined him.

"Her master had another 'session' with her last night, she can't walk yet," George replied, face tight with anger.

De Oro gusted out a sigh of relief — at least she was still alive. He asked, "Did Doc verify everything?"

George jerked a nod. "Yeah, she was raped. Her owner didn't leave any genetic material inside her, but Doc was able to identify him by the bite marks he left on her breasts."

The bundle in Miiko's arms twitched, and de Oro suddenly wished that they'd switched to English instead of sticking to the Japanese everyone had in common. He sighed, then slowly pulled the blanket back from Miiko's face. She had the eyes of a wounded animal, but managed to whisper, "H-Hi."

"Hey, chica," he replied softly, "give us a little time and we'll get you safe, if we have to carry you all the way to China." De Oro doubted she'd know what 'chica' meant, but it would not have been among whatever endearments her master might have used. He waited until she gave him a shaky smile, then asked, "Did George explain what we need?"

She jerked a nod. "Y-Y-Yes," she stammered out, "b-b-but couldn't you just u-use the m-m-movies?"

"Movies?" He looked up at George.

"That motherless bastard like to taped his 'playtime'," George explained. "He had them stored under a password lock, but Miiko saw him type it in a few times and remembered it."

It was a long minute before de Oro trusted his voice to stay steady. "No, chica, we don't want to use those, not even with your face blanked out," he said. "Just a walk-around with a video camera recording what he did to you, too low to show your face is enough. Can you do that? Are you strong enough to stand for a few minutes?" She jerked a nod, and he whispered, "Brave girl."

He reached out to gently run his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head, and paused. There was something there, hard, plastic. And from its immovability, it was attached to the base of her skull and not her skin. "Chica, what's this on the back of your head?" he asked.

"What's w-w-what?"

De Oro stiffened. "You can't feel this?" he asked, running his finger around rectangular piece of plastic.

"Y-y-yes, I can f-feel your finger," Miiko replied, her voice rising. "What's wrong?"

"Shhh, nothing's wrong," he replied soothingly. "Just let George take you to get that video shot while I finish up out here, and we can head for safety."

"I want to watch."

_No, you don't._ "We don't have time, every minute we're here puts lives at risk. But we're recording it, you can watch the video later," he soothed again, then nodded to George. As his subordinate carefully walked around the back of the house, de Oro watched them go for a moment, _really_ hoping that he'd manage to distract Miiko enough that she never saw the executions. He'd learned over the years that ugly memories were just that — ugly memories — and _enjoying_ the experience just made it worse looking back. _Worry about that later, we have to finish up here, get the recordings uploaded to Jason for distribution, and get out as fast as possible,_ he thought as he turned back to the executions he was about to order.

/oOo\

Nabiki yawned as she watched the attractive news anchor of her favorite American news report on her desktop computer's monitor before taking a sip of her first morning cup of coffee, one she'd actually brewed herself rather than waiting for Kasumi, thanks to the early hour. She had found that she enjoyed watching the news out of the United States, the different culture often giving an offbeat slant to familiar stories and even occasionally information outsiders with a tradition of wide-open press freedom felt safe reporting. Even when it didn't, the sheer cheerfulness of the young, often female, always telegenic newscasters as they gleefully reported the most horrendous of stories was an entertaining change from the older, usually male, always sober and serious newscasters of the Empire. Besides, listening to the news in English helped provide more privacy — she suspected she was the only one in the house that understood the language of the eastern "barbarians."

Of course, she usually _recorded_ the morning news programs to watch them at a more civilized hour (like, _noon_), but this morning was different and she listened to Janice Henderson without her usual wry humor engaged. {The workers at the La'a-kea Plantation on the island of Maui awoke to a gruesome sight yesterday morning. The plantation manager, two of the plantation's overseers, and five co-workers were gagged and crucified to an outside wall of the plantation headquarters, pinned to the wall with knives and spears. While it is early yet, our inside sources report that the initial investigation into the latest and most horrific of a string of attacks on plantation slaves and employees has failed to uncover any leads or even a motive for the crime —}

Nabiki turned off the news program and slouched down in her chair, eyes cold. _So far, so good, the public doesn't have a clue and the police are as lost on this, at least officially, as they were about the attacks on my people. Well, Ranma's people, really, or rather _Tendo Ranko's_, I'm just the head manager, but who's quibbling? But for the people that matter, the message should be clear — complain about Tendo Agriculture's gentle handling of and high wages for its debt slaves and free laborers all you want, engage in petty harassment if it makes you feel better, but killing any of us means ending your life pinned to a wall with knives and a spear through the heart._

Yet again, she wondered whether she should tell Ranma of the lengths she'd had to go to in defense of "Ranko's" bonanza from the fallout of the Nerima Blowout, but reluctantly deciding yet again that it would be a bad idea. When "Ranko" was finally recovered enough to take an actual interest in "her" corporation would be soon enough.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. The days of being seriously worried that Ranma would take his own life had ended half a year earlier, when Xian Pu had returned from Nyucheizu with an agreement to provide mercenaries for Clan Meioh (making them allies of the Clan and a part of the Empire, in essence if not officially) along with the ingredients needed to unlock Ranma's curse. The days of being even faintly worried had ended a week before, and the pageboy-haired young woman felt her mouth curve into a soft smile she never let anyone see as she remembered the way Ranma's eyes had lit up the first time he held his newborn daughter. Still, the only times the raven-haired young man she'd come to respect seemed to really come alive now were when he was holding little Ukyo or sparring with Ryoga during the Lost Boy's infrequent visits, perhaps because those were the only two he cared about that he didn't feel he'd utterly failed. And then there was the way that he insisted on shifting to his busty, redheaded female form whenever he left the dojo —

The musical chime of an incoming call interrupted her ruminations, and Nabiki bolted upright at the sound — that particular piece of music signaled a scrambled live call from one of the most dangerous men in the world (in her opinion, at least, and certainly one of the most dangerous to _know_) and she hadn't been expecting it, or even had the faintest clue why he might be taking what little risk there was in contacting her directly.

She hastily rose to lock her door (and thank whoever for the inspiration to have more soundproofing added when the upper story of the Tendo home had been practically rebuilt after its Nerima Blowout damage, especially Ryoga's contribution), then sat back down as the chime sounded again and put on her headset before clicking on the button to accept the call. As she'd expected, the new window that opened up revealed the sharp-featured, lightly-tanned-by-inheritance face she'd come to know well over the past nine months, though the view behind him was of night-shrouded lush foliage rather than the usual rough-hewn wooden walls of his hidden base. "De Oro-san, this is a surprise," she greeted him, tone questioning.

De Oro smiled thinly. "Yes, I thought it would be," he replied, and Nabiki believed him; he'd helped sharpen her already serious paranoia with his lessons on operational security before he'd left Japan, after all. "So how is Edo's youngest oyabun, did you get the packet I sent yesterday?"

"I'm fine, thanks, and yes, I did, and already forwarded it on after a quick look-through. The executions will certainly make people sit up and take notice, and the original doctor's report on the slave that was beaten to death, the falsified report that replaced it, and the recordings he'd made of the manager's demands that he replace the first with the second will make it clear they deserved it to any but the most closeminded. But it's your medic's report on the lab assistant that's really going to get people's attention — both because she was just a university graduate paying off her loans, not a multi-generational field hand, and the video you took of what that monster did to her."

She shuddered as she remembered the camera panning around a girl's naked body, from her thighs to her collarbone, showing a stomach, back, breasts and buttocks so crisscrossed with thin scars and fresh, bleeding welts that she didn't think a finger could fit between them, along with the red bite marks on her breasts. "I suspect the reaction of most people is going to be to thank you for taking out the trash, and isn't _that_ going to make some people in high places nervous? But was it smart to tell the men you were about to execute that they were about to die for violations of _both_ _God_ and the Empire? And what are those scripture references your people spray painted above the bodies? I was too busy yesterday to look them up."

De Oro grinned. "Deuteronomy nineteen, eighteen and nineteen: 'If the witness proves to be a liar, giving false testimony against a fellow Israelite, then do to the false witness as that witness intended to do to the other party. You must purge the evil from among you.' Exodus twenty-one, twenty: 'If a man strikes his male or female slave with a rod and he dies at his hand, he shall be punished.' " He shrugged. "Mentioning both the laws of God and the laws of the Empire is important; I need people to see me as a religious fanatic to be taken seriously _and_ as someone with limits and not just a mad dog that needs to be hunted down — it means they're more likely to take my _beliefs_ seriously rather than dismiss them out of hand. What about Meioh-dono? Do you still think she'll react as hoped?"

It was Nabiki's turn to shrug, wondering why he was wasting time calling her to rehash everything when he hadn't even reached safety yet. "As I told you Setsuna's a hard woman to read, but from the hints I've picked up she's eager to cleanse the Meioh plantation management and just waiting for the excuse to do so without appearing like a crusading reformer—we don't _do_ 'crusading reformers' in the Empire, the nail that sticks up and all that. Well, you've certainly given her one hell of an excuse."

"I did that," de Oro agreed with a grin, before sobering. "But I didn't call you just to discuss the ins and outs of our strategy. When we pulled Miiko out of her master's lair, we found something embedded at the base of her skull, a plastic flesh-colored plug. When we removed it, we found ... I'm not sure what, something like a computer jack, right into her head. I've never seen anything like it. Do you have any idea what it might be?"

"A _computer_ jack?" Nabiki repeated, nonplussed. "No, I haven't a clue. Do you have any pictures?"

"Yes, sending them now. I wanted to make sure they didn't get mixed in with the original packet, and didn't have time to explain yesterday." He leaned forward to reach down out of sight of his laptop's camera, and moment later Nabiki's desktop pinged to let her know the folder had arrived and been checked for booby traps and found safe. A few seconds later she had opened up the photos of the back of Miiko's neck. She frowned thoughtfully, staring at the pictures of the oddity embedded in the girl's skull, both with the plug in place and removed to reveal what certainly _looked_ like a port for a computer. There was something familiar about what she was seeing, some haunting memory ... She froze as she remembered the report she'd seen just before the Blowout. "Oh. My. God." _I've been around Christians too much_, she thought whimsically even through her shock.

From the smile that flickered across de Oro's face the same thought had occurred to him, if undoubtedly from a slightly different angle. "What? What is it?" he demanded.

"I think … maybe … that looks …" Nabiki paused and took a deep breath. "That looks like the neural links I read about almost a year ago."

"What's a neural link?"

Nabiki raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "You don't know? They're being developed in America, after all."

"I have more important things to do than keep up with every bit of bleeding edge technology that might or might not pan out," de Oro said patiently. "So what's a neural link?"

It was Nabiki's turn to grin for a moment at her successful poke, before again turning serious. "A neural link is an implant that allows you to hook a computer directly into your brain.

"Why in God's name would anyone want to do _that_?" de Oro asked, face going a little green.

Nabiki shrugged. "Speed. Convenience. From what I read, the link uses your optic nerves to place images in front of your eyes that no one else can see, and you can give your computer a limited set of orders at the speed of thought." She chuckled at his dubious expression. "I know, it doesn't seem like much in return for letting someone crack your skull open and play with your brain; but believe me, there are a lot of hackers that will give their left arms for one of those once they're sure there aren't any bugs. And this is just the beginning, the tech is only going to get better!"

De Oro frowned thoughtfully, ignoring his young ally's growing enthusiasm. "And someone placed one of these implants in Miiko's head," he mused. "Why?"

"I don't know," Nabiki replied. "What did she say?"

"She doesn't know either, didn't know it was there. In fact, she _still_ doesn't know. She can't feel the implant with or without the plug, put her finger right on it and she says it feels like skin. And every time we've told her about it, she's forgotten everything within seconds."

Nabiki froze. "She's been _Adjusted?_"

"That's my guess. If so, what was done to her breaks every law concerning Adjustments the Empire has on the books — even with her consent."

Nabiki's mind raced over the resources needed to install the implant, the _fortune_ it would cost, and then the added costs of a rogue Adjuster. And in the back of beyond in the middle of a _jungle_? And her owner had been a _geneticist_, he wouldn't have had an interest in neural links, might not even have known about them! "What have we stumbled into?" she whispered.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out," de Oro replied, voice cold as the Arctic.

Nabiki straightened in her seat, nodding her agreement. "Agreed. But we aren't going to find out more without having someone examine her that would know what he was looking at, and at the moment I don't know of anyone like that, not that I trust that much. Do you?" When de Oro shook his head, she continued. "Until I do find someone like that, Miiko is probably safer at your base camp. Sure, the Imperial Army may be looking for you, but whoever did this will be looking for _her_, and I doubt they have the army's freedom of action. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. After the way we pulled her out of hell on Earth, I doubt you could pry her out of my camp with a crowbar … once we get there, that is. I've seen it before, she'll be as fixated on us as newly-hatched goslings."

"All right, send me everything you can find out as soon as you can, and I'll start setting things up on my end."

"Will do, once we reach the camp." De Oro nodded and leaned forward and the screen went blank, leaving a suddenly _very_ worried Nabiki to start her own plans.

/oOo\

Konishi Masuhiro finished strapping his pack closed and glanced around the small room that had been home for the past five years to see if he'd missed anything important. He had enjoyed his time on the plantation as an overseer, the chance to inflict the occasional punishment had been appreciated and what some of the female slaves were willing to do to avoid punishment even more so. But he suspected that whoever had been paying him for the last two years to keep an eye on Dr. Okuda and the lab assistant he'd bought wasn't going to be happy that the scientist was dead and the slave vanished into the jungle.

_Yes, _definitely_ time to seek my fortunes elsewhere,_ he thought as he decided that he hadn't overlooked anything and strode out the door into the pre-dawn. Everything had been a mess since the massacre the previous day so he doubted anyone would miss him for hours, or the car he intended to "borrow," but an early start was best — he wanted as much distance as he could get by the time the reporters showed up. It was a good thing that he'd stored his extra paycheck in a separate account under a false ID, he'd have a clean break to start over.

_Maybe Hawaii? There're plenty of plantations on the islands, I'm sure someone can use an experienced overseer, and the women on TV are lovely._

* * *

The story title is from the song by Everlast, and the chapter title comes from Bruce Springsteen's latest album. Neither is a perfect fit, but tangentially related.

The Japanese name here for Indonesia, Daerah Selatan,was what they used after capturing the territory during WWII.


	2. The Way We Were

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Naoko Takeuchi.

**Warning: high citrus content.**

* * *

_Several weeks later:_

Ikari Gendo leaned back in his office chair, fingers steepled, as Katsuragi Misato stood before his desk in a pose of semi-attention that her time in the military made impossible to eradicate. The chief of Clan Ikari's black operations hadn't had an appointment. Normally that would have been a cause for concern, but there was one case where that could be good news instead, and he found himself having to work to keep the flickers of hope her presence evoked off his face. "So, Misato-san, what do you have for me?" he asked, voice steady.

Misato took a deep breath. "Very little," she replied. "We were able to locate Konishi through the bank account he thought we didn't know about. We caught up with him in Hawaii and 'debriefed' him. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything to add to what we'd already learned from the video the terrorists released and the official report of the Shogun's investigators. Thanks to the way that the assault occurred at least a year before our own plan called for a similar event, we were unable to steer those investigators to any of the conclusions we wanted. An Emperor's Hand was involved as we wanted, but was brought in by Meioh-dono herself to 'clarify what an expert geneticist was doing in the jungles of Daerah Selatan', as her publicist put it. We don't know what the Hand reported, of course, but I very much doubt he drew the conclusions we were aiming for there, either. Our hunters are still searching for the one piece that might have led him to that conclusion, but the terrorists have hidden themselves — and her — well. We have a general area, but it's a big jungle and the terrorists are better trained than your usual runaway slave. The hunters are either coming up empty or not coming back at all, and we can't send saturate the area without alerting everyone that someone else is involved. The Army is also looking and we have an ear on anything they find, but at this point we _don't_ want them finding our missing piece first. I've tried triangulating from the locations of the losses we and the Army have suffered, but we're having difficulty picking out which ones are relevant and which are simply encounters with the bandits and smugglers that infest the region.

"On the bright side, now that Konishi has been accounted for, all links that lead back to us have been eliminated."

She fell silent, and Gendo sat and gazed at her impassively as second after second ticked by. Finally, when he had his disappointment under control, he said, "That wasn't much of a report."

Misato shrugged. "There wasn't much to report, and you said you wanted continual updates. Though I suppose I could waste your time by piling on inconsequential details?"

As tense as she was, her attempt at being nonchalant fell well short of convincing. But Gendo chalked up another point for his subordinate for the attempt as she passed another of his little tests — there were few subordinates that wouldn't try to sugarcoat bad news when reporting to him, much less throw his own words back in his teeth (however lightly she'd done it), and he treasured the few he'd found.

After a long moment of singing tension, Gendo said, "Very well. Pull out our hunters; we'll let the Army do the searching for us; but make plans for acquiring Miiko from the Army if they find her. Have the range of options available tomorrow morning for my approval. And pre-position some agents to shadow anyone … unusual … that Meioh-dono sends that way."

Katsuragi acknowledged her new orders and dismissal, and as the office's door closed behind her Gendo rose to his feet and strode over to his one-way window. Again staring out over his wife's ancestral estate, he chuckled grimly to himself. This was getting to be something of a habit — though at least this time he wasn't beating on the glass. _Of course, that might be because you are getting accustomed to disappointment when it comes to you maneuvers against the Kunos, whatever their assumed name might be. And really, this isn't _that_ much of a setback. True, you'll have one less weapon to your hand when the time comes. But however adroitly Meioh-dono has been maneuvering to position herself as the Commoners' Lady, she has had to greatly reduce the resources available to her new Family as she consolidated over the past year. So that tool's loss is meaningless—the economic chaos caused by bringing her down is nowhere near what it would have been before._

He snorted as he considered the nickname bestowed by the underground newsfeeds springing up lately on the 'net — the Commoners' Lady, indeed! Certainly, the Empire's newest reigning Lady had managed to gain an unparalleled reputation with the mob, what with her efforts to find all the Juuban residents that Kuno the Elder had sold into slavery and bring them home. Not even the abuses brought to light by the recent terrorist raid on one of the Kuno plantations she'd acquired in Daerah Selatan had dampened the mob's enthusiasm — those abuses had clearly pre-dated her ascension to noble status, and the investigation she'd immediately ordered into the management of _all_ of her plantations in the province had actually made her even more popular with the common rabble than she'd been before. But so what? When the Sultan made his move in a year or two and Gendo used the chaos to make his own bid for ultimate power, the love of the mob would not save her — or her adopted daughter, the last living person sharing the blood of the man responsible for the death of Gendo's children and his wife's ... melancholia.

_But daydreaming won't make that day more likely, so back to work._ Gendo turned from the window and returned to his seat, bringing up his spies' latest reports of the continuing fortification of Dar al-Islam's western borders, and the reaction of the European Union and the British Empire to said activity.

/oOo\

_Ranma's body, naked except for her slave chain and her red hair in a short ponytail, lay stretched out along her long, smoothly muscled lover, her head bobbing in time to her pumping hand. The redhead smiled around her mouth- and handful as her master groaned — from the way that Tatewaki's hips were flexing beneath her as he fought to keep from disturbing her rhythm, it wouldn't be long now. He'd even stopped probing into her with his fingers. (Not his tongue, alas, but she'd learned that it _wasn't_ true that everyone was the same height lying down, not if the height differential was extreme enough.) Instead, his hands had shifted to grip her butt cheeks as he approached his climax. _And I think I know just how to finish him off,_ the redhead thought. She'd been practicing, and it was time to see if her latest technique would work as she thought it should. She lifted her head, readied herself to suppress her gag reflex, then plunged downward until her chin was tickled by Tatewaki's pubic hairs, and she _hummed_._

_Her master shouted as he lost control, and his abruptly upthrusting hips actually bounced Ranma up off of him, spattering her face before she got her lips back down to catch the rest. Suppressing a sigh, she swung a leg over her still-panting master and sat on the bed. She grabbed a damp cloth from the bed's sidetable and wiped off her cheeks and forehead and jaw, then sipped from the glass of lemon-flavored water to clean out her mouth._

_By now, Tatewaki had realized that she didn't care for being spattered. "My deepest apologies for so besmirching your fair features," he murmured, shamefaced._

_She asked, "Ya didn't get any in my hair, did ya? It's a pain ta get out an' Usagi won't let me wash it myself. Not fair ta her"_

"_Nay, that at least I avoided."_

_Ranma shrugged. "Then no harm done."_

"_Truly, your concern for your handmaiden does you honor," Tatewaki intoned as he sat up beside her. Rising, he swept her up in his arms and laid her back down, stretched out where he had been lying. "Now come, mistress of my heart, let me wipe away my transgression and prove again my mastery of this Art!"_

"_I keep tellin' ya, I'm not yer mistress," Ranma said as he spread her legs and leaned down, "I'm yer oooooh!" She lost the last of her thought — _your slave _— as his lips gently kissed her between her legs. Her hands clutched at her breasts and her legs spread wider as his eager tongue proved again that his claim of mastery in the arts of the bedroom was no idle boast._

_For long minutes the room was silent except for Ranma's moaning gasps at the pleasure washing through her from the eager attentions of her lover's lips and fingers. Then Tatewaki broke off to rise upright and scooted forward, and Ranma grinned in anticipation even before his hips pushed her legs even farther apart. She barely noticed as Tatewaki lay down across her, his arms pushing her legs back until her knees were almost pressed against her shoulders. But she _did_ notice when he didn't push into. He murmured, "Tell me, light of my universe, do I bring you pleasure? Do you wish me to fill you as nothing and no one else can?"_

_In the back of her mind, it seemed as if a voice was screaming that she was a man, that the Adjustment of her sexual leanings was broken, that _he_ shouldn't be wanting, _needing_ her master to stop teasing her and _do_ it. But that night Tatewaki was in a playful mood, and as a result had been expertly playing her body like the finely-tuned instrument it was ... and not once had he allowed her to _get off_! "Yes, yes, yes!" she shouted. "Now shut up and _fill_ me! Do it!"_

_He chuckled warmly in her ear, then with one hard thrust of his hips, he did._

/\

Ranma shot bolt-upright in the bed he shared with his wife, gasping for breath. He wasn't locked in his female form, wasn't a slave, wasn't in the bedroom _she_ had shared with the last Kuno lord, and it wasn't their last night together ... the night before the Nerima Blowout, when _she_ had killed the man that had so obsessively loved the twisted product of his delusions that he saw when he looked at her.

And the cooling coating of sweat that had him beginning to shiver in the cool air of a Japanese winter night wasn't from fear. Neither was the tent in his blanket, or the _need_ filling him as he remembered the lithely muscled body and handsome face of the man that for some weeks had owned her, and what he had done to her that night. The Mentalist's mind games during the Nerima Blowout had fucked him up but good — at least, Ranma _thought_ they had. He didn't think he had found Tatewaki attractive at the time, just like he was sure he hadn't found men sexually attractive before that night the same way he had after — to the point that after the first walk about town after the curse was unlocked he'd refused to leave the dojo with its all-female occupants except in his redheaded female form. But his mind insisted on remembering it differently.

Regardless, that didn't change what he needed now if he wasn't to spend the rest of the night frustrated and sleepless, and he rolled out of the bed, made sure that the blankets were tucked around his still-sleeping wife, and shrugged on his robe. He quietly padded over to the crib in the corner of the room and smiled down at the tiny form of his and Akane's sleeping baby daughter. He reached down to run a gentle finger along little Ukyo's cheek before turning for the door. He failed to notice the way his wife's cracked-open eyes tracked him as he silently slipped out.

/\

In the first floor inner bath with its furo, an again naked Ranma dumped a bucket of cool water down his chest, transforming himself once again from his smooth-muscled, raven-haired male form into the girl of his dream. She shivered slightly, but only for a moment — within a few weeks of his return to the dojo (or rather, _her_ return, with the curse still locked) Kasumi had taken to keeping the furo full and hot except when she gave it her regular scrubbing, and with the coming of winter that heat made the room the warmest nighttime place in the house. The eldest still-living Tendo hadn't said anything, so Ranma had been free to pretend that it was because they suddenly had more money than they'd ever need and not because of Ranma's uneasy nights.

The petite redhead stepped in front of the mirror, looking over the body of her dream — sleek muscles, firm breasts that proportionately would have suited a body inches taller than her own. And she could feel her body responding to the fresh memory of his dream. But he'd figured out a way to banish the Mentalist-corrupted memories, at least for awhile.

She sat on the floor with her back against the wall, closed her eyes as one hand played with a taut nipple while the fingers of the other moved lower over the red bush of her mound to slip and probe between her legs. She moaned at the sensations as she brought new images to mind for her mental counterburn, of a very female lover ... but not of her wife. Once, months after Xian Pu had left and they had begun to wonder if she was ever coming back with the necessary ritual components to unlock the curse, Akane had insisted that they try more than just sharing a bed for sleep, hoping that it wouldn't matter if the curse wasn't unlocked. It had not gone well — as Ranma had feared, Akane felt no more real sexual attraction to her husband's female form than she ever had before, Ranma lacked the practice needed to compensate through sheer skill (it turned out there were real differences between being the one giving pleasure instead of receiving), and Akane hadn't been a good enough actress to fake it however hard she'd tried. So Ranma had no memories of girl sex with her wife, her attempts to replace the lack with imagination were tainted by her memory of their dismal flop, and the memories of their nights of hot heterosexual sex together making up for lost time once the curse had been unlocked just morphed into Tatewaki and 'Ranko'.

So instead, she imagined a might-have-been, an opportunity she'd missed at the time but had recognized later while she'd been making herself and Akane miserable by torturing herself with what she could have done differently, before Kasumi had sat her down and given her a stern lecture on accepting the past so she could deal with the future. A memory that _proved_ she hadn't always been attracted to men, however her memories lied now.

_Ranma, naked except for her slave chain and coated with sweat and the leavings of the evening's lovemaking with her master, flowed to the end of yet another kata and immediately into another, trying to calm her mind's turmoil with her body's grace. Her Adjustment was gone. Not just the block on aggressive violence that she had felt break under the pressure of dealing with the slavers that day, but the Adjustment of her sexual preferences, that had allowed her to perform with her male master in spite of her exclusive attraction to girls — and that had faded away without her noticing its absence until that night._

_Then there came the sound of something hitting the hallway floor, and a familiar "Ow!" Ranma broke off the kata and turned to find the young blonde slave that her master had assigned as her body-slave, dressed in a lacy black teddy, sitting up and rubbing the side of her head. Usagi pulled herself to her feet, her eyes widening. "Ranko, what's wrong?"_

"_Wh-what makes ya think anything's wrong?" Ranma retorted._

"_You're in the dojo at three in the morning, from the amount of sweat have been here awhile, you're completely naked, and you obviously didn't bathe after your time with Kuno-dono. Something is wrong, what is it?"_

_Ranma had been so caught up in her shock and fear that she had forgotten her physical state, and now she felt the heat of a furious blush flashing across her face and down her upper chest even as an arm flew up to cover her breasts and she whirled away from the younger girl. "Sorry 'bout that," she muttered._

_Usagi walked up to Ranma and hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ranko, you didn't have a nightmare about yesterday?"_

_Ranm shook her head, back still to Usagi. "No, I haven't been asleep. Usagi, I ... I ... M-My Adjustment, it's g-g-gone!" she half-sobbed in a rush._

"_You're a lesbian?" her bodyservant gasped. "You ... you had to force yourself to ... to pleasure our master without the Adjustment to protect you?"_

_But Ranma shook her head. "No, I _enjoyed_ it! And the Adjustment was gone, it was ... was me!"_

"_Oh." Ranma felt Usagi's arms circle her shoulders and stomach to pull her back against the younger girl — in spite of the two year difference in their ages, the two girls were the same height. For awhile, Ranma simply relaxed, taking comfort from the offered support._

_Finally, Usagi murmured in her ear, "Ranko, you've seen our master naked any number of times, think of one of them, picture it. Does he thrill you, make you shiver, want to caress him, want him to caress you?"_

_Ranma thought about it, thought back to what she'd felt even that very night, and felt hope begin to blossom. Her body slave had a definite point. "No ... no, he doesn't," she said after a moment. "But —" She broke off as Usagi broke off her hug to place a hand on her shoulder and turn her around. The blonde placed a hand on either side of her mistress's head and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. For a moment Ranma froze in shock, and then one arm circled Usagi's back as the other fell to grip a buttock firming with exercise. She pulled her servant against her as the kiss deepened, her tongue pushing against her inexperienced companion's mouth, slipping in when the lips parted._

_After several minutes the two girls broke apart, gasping for breath, Usagi blushing. "D-D-Did ..." she started in a quavery voice, broke off, cleared her throat, and tried again. "Did you enjoy that?"_

_Ranma nodded shakily. "Yeah ... yeah, I did."_

"_Good." Usagi grinned even as her blush deepened. She stepped back and reached up to her shoulders to slip her teddie's shoulder strips off. Slipping them down her arms, she slid her only piece of clothing down her torso, her legs, stepped out of it and left the tiny pile of black fabric on the floor as she straightened to face a once again stunned Ranma. Spreading her legs slightly and pushing her chest forward as she crossed her arms behind her back and her blush spread down her neck and across her upper chest, she tried to smile saucily at her mistress. "Like what you see?" she asked in a tone that completely failed at being smoky or sultry._

_Ranma blushed even as her eyes roamed over the marvelous body on display before her: shiny blond hair, smooth skin, breasts not as large as her own (few women's were, especially when height was factored in) but firm, her stomach firming up from exercise, her mound shaved bare, long legs also firming up... Her eyes snapped back up to the clear signs of her body servant's arousal. In her own inept, clueless way, was Usagi really offering what Ranma thought she was?_

_The redhead stepped forward, a hand cupping the back of the other girl's head, again pulling her servant against her, her mouth seeking Usagi's — but this time she lifted her other hand to caress the satin skin of a breast, and exulted as the younger girl's lips fell open with a soft moan, again giving her mistress's tongue access to her warm mouth. Ranma dropped her hand down to cup Usagi's mound, feeling the way Usagi shifted to press against her hand. She pulled back slightly to look her servant in the eye. "Usagi, you told me once that you wished that Kuno-dono would make a woman outta you ... 'bend you over the dining room table', I think ya said. Would you like me to, instead? Tonight? Now?"_

_Usagi gazed back for a long moment before jerkily nodding, whispering, "Please, yes..."_

"Usagi-chan..." Ranma breathed out as her fingers probed deeper, then clenched her jaws to hold in a room-shaking shriek fit to wake the house as her suddenly exploding orgasm tightened every muscle until finally releasing her, leaving her limp and gasping on the cool tile floor.

Eventually, Ranma rolled over and forced herself to her feet. _That_ should have done it ... get cleaned up, a bit of a hot soak in the furo, and he'd be able to snuggle back into bed next to his wife and actually sleep through the rest of the night. With luck, he might have as long as a week before he next dreamed of Kuno.

As she filled the rinse bucket before sitting on the stool, she didn't notice the door to the outer bath silently slide shut.

* * *

The chapter title comes from the song by the same name by Barbara Striesand. Not an exact match, but kinda...


	3. This Is Where

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Naoko Takeuchi.

* * *

_"Usagi-chan..."_

Akane watched through the cracked open door to the furo as Ranma's orgasm exploded through her. For long moments the naked red-haired young woman that was her husband half-lifted off the tile floor on which she lay, jaw clenched and every muscle tight, wet-shiny fingers clamped between her legs, before collapsing limply to lie there gasping. Finally, Ranma rolled upright and grabbed the rinse bucket, and Akane silently slid the door closed.

Ignoring the sounds of splashing water that she assumed was Ranma rinsing off her pleasure-sweat, Akane put her back to the wall and slid down to the floor, anger raging through her and shaking her so hard that she was unable to stand even as tears rolled down her cheeks. It just wasn't fair!

Before Ranma's enslavement and Kuno's death it would have been Ranma she had blamed, one more excuse to keep her fiancé at arm's length so the fathers wouldn't call for an immediate wedding. But now the fathers were both dead: her own blade sending her father's head rolling across the dojo floor when she acted as his second when he committed seppuku to buy his daughters time and Uncle Genma going down under the knives of Kuno Family ninjas as he fought for the lives of his wife and Akane's sisters. And since she had insisted Ranma marry her weeks before Xian Pu had returned with the needed ingredients for unlocking his curse, Akane and Ranma's first wedding anniversary was only a few months away.

No, the one she ached to rend and beat and tear at was the one that had treated her husband's mind like his own personal playground. Not that that was any more productive than being angry at her husband, seeing that the Mentalist was as dead as the fathers. Though if she could she would have resurrected him from whatever unmarked grave his corpse had been tossed into and given him a _much_ more protracted and painful death than the broken neck that Ranma had inflicted.

"Akane, Ukyo's getting restless."

Akane realized that she'd tucked her head between her upraised knees, and looked up to find her oldest sister standing in the door leading to the hallway.

Kasumi, at least, seemed to be hardly affected by everything that had happened. True, she had gone into hysterics once they'd safely reached the hospital after the attack on the dojo and had been on a prescription for months afterward. But she had risen to the challenge of meeting the needs of a household haunted by guilt and fear — when Nabiki had thrown herself into her new duties as the manager of 'Ranko's' new estates with such grim determination that they'd been lucky to see her twice a day at mealtimes, Kasumi had been the one to insist she make room in her schedule for an exercise regimen and some family time. By now, Kasumi was once again her previous serene self ... and no one had mentioned anything to Akane about noticing that when Kasumi returned from the weekly visits to a local gun range that she apparently believed no one knew about, she was even more quiet than usual. Or about the revolver she had hidden in the kitchen, for that matter.

Then Kasumi's words penetrated, and Akane's anger guttered out like a candle. She hastily rose to her feet as she wiped at wet cheeks, and Kasumi stepped aside as she hurried from the bathroom. The current head of the Tendo family put up the 'occupied' sign on the inner door and slid the outer door closed before following her sister down the hallway toward the stairs.

/\

A few minutes later Akane, sitting in the chair by her bed gazing down at the baby in her arms, shivered at the sensations coursing through her from her daughter's eager sucking at a nipple. Those sensations were nowhere near as strong as what she'd experienced again a few nights ago when she'd convinced her husband that she was _finally_ recovered enough from the birth for sex, but they were close enough that she'd found them disturbing until Kasumi had informed her that they were perfectly normal for breastfeeding mothers. Now, she just found them embarrassing.

"Akane?"

Akane looked up at Kasumi, sitting on her bed. Her older sister hadn't said a word when they'd gotten back upstairs, simply invited herself into the bedroom that had been Ranma and Genma's and was now Ranma, Akane and Ukyo's. She'd sat quietly on the bed, waiting patiently while Akane had seen to her fussing daughter, but apparently her patience was at an end.

Now Kasumi softly asked, "Little sister, what's wrong?"

Akane's eyes dropped back down to her baby. "I'm losing him," she whispered.

"Who, Ranma?" At Akane's nod, Kasumi rose from the bed to kneel beside her sister, reaching out to take hold of a hand. "Akane, no! He loves you," she insisted, "now more than ever, I can tell."

"I know," Akane agreed. "But Kasumi … I don't think he wants to be Ranma anymore. He's turning into _Ranko_."

Kasumi winced as her sister's grip tightened on her hand, even as her mind raced. "Why do you think so?" she finally asked. "I know he doesn't like to leave the compound except in girl form, but — Akane, my hand!"

Akane hastily let go, blushing as her sister snatched back her hand and rubbed it for a moment, wiggling her fingers to make sure nothing was broken. "Sorry," the youngest Tendo muttered.

"I'm fine," Kasumi assured her. "So why else do you believe Ranma wants to abandon his manhood?"

Akane blushed. "Because ... when he masturbates, it's in his girl form," she muttered, "while fantasizing about Usagi."

Kasumi fought through her own blush to ask, "That doesn't mean you have to lose him. Have you tried to _replace_ Usagi in his ... well, 'her' fantasies?"

Akane's blush deepened as she stammered for a moment, before taking a deep breath. "We ... tried once ... before Shampoo got back. It ... didn't go well. Kasumi, I _can't!_ As much as I love Ranma, _Ranko_ can't be more than a friend. The best I have in the world, but no more."

"I see." Kasumi frowned. "I ... don't know — about Ranma, I mean. But if you're right, what are you going to do? Ranma could decide to spend his ... her waking time was 'Ranko', but sleep with you as 'Ranma'. Certainly, the sounds he was making a few nights ago were ... enthusiastic."

For a moment, Akane thought she was going to faint, thanks to her blush. But she forced herself through it to consider her sister's words. "Maybe," she said doubtfully. "I ... really, I don't know what I'm going to do." She dropped her eyes again, hoping that her often surprisingly perceptive sister didn't recognize the lie for what it was, just as little Ukyo stopped sucking at her nipple. Akane concentrated closing up the top of her robe and getting a towel over her shoulder for burping Ukyo, then looked over again at her sister. "Kasumi, what about you?"

" 'What about you' what?" Kasumi asked. "Me and Ranma? He'd never accept it."

"No, what about your future?" Akane said. "You're already older than most girls when they marry, it's not fair for you to just … just be our housewife without even being a wife. You deserve better than that."

"Ah." Kasumi considered her sister for a moment before shaking her head, smiling gently. "Thank you for caring, but there is no need to be concerned. I am happy to continue as I am."

"But what about a family of your own?" Akane insisted. "You've been marvelous with Ukyo, you deserve your own home and family. Don't you _want_ children, a husband, what a …" Blushing furiously, she forced herself to continue, "… what a _man_ can give you, do for you? Or a woman?" She didn't _think_ her sister swung that way, but suddenly she wasn't so sure.

Now Kasumi was giggling, as she shook her head again. She said, "Not everyone is as … _physical_ as you and Ranma. I have proven quite capable of seeing to my own needs, and have never really felt driven to find a man of my own — or a woman. As for children, while Nodoka will not approve, I do not think you and Ranma will throw me out of the dojo when I have one out of wedlock … or perhaps two. I'll just need to find a good man willing to, ah … 'cooperate'." Glancing slyly at Akane, she asked, "Do you think Ranma would be willing to help out?"

Akane opened her mouth to furiously denounce the idea, then paused. This was Kasumi. The last thing she was going to try to do was take Ranma away from her. Besides, it wasn't like Akane wasn't ready to give Ranma away, if that was what it took to make him ... or _her_ ... happy. Finally, she said, "You'll have to ask Ranma, but I think Ukyo would love to have a cousin or two for playmates. Just don't wait too long, or there'll be too big an age difference." Then it was her turn to giggle as Kasumi's jaw dropped in amazement at her agreement. Deciding that Ukyo had been burped enough, she rose to her feet and walked over to the cradle. "It's late, Kasumi, go back to bed and get what sleep you can before Ukyo's _next_ demand to be fed."

Kasumi shook herself free of her shock and rose to her feet, made her goodnights, and left for her own bed as Akane laid Ukyo down.

Straightening, Akane tiptoed to her bedroom door and eased it open, listening as Kasumi's door clicked shut, then closed her own door again and turned to sit in front of the bedroom's new computer console. She had a call to make, and while her husband liked to soak in the furo for a while after one of his dreams her window of opportunity was limited. Quickly bringing the computer to life, she hesitated for a long moment before she straightened in her seat, took a deep breath, and brought up the vidphone function. Less than a minute later the Tsukino family wallpaper vanished to be replaced by the image of 'Ranko's' former body slave, bleary eyes framed by sleep-tousled blond hair.

Stifling a yawn, Usagi demanded, "Akane, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes, I do, and I'm sorry," Akane apologized, "but I needed to talk to you privately and this is my best chance. Usagi, it's been almost a year, it's time you stopped making excuses not to visit. Ukyo need's to actually meet her Auntie Bunny."

/\

Usagi sighed and rubbed at tired eyes as she leaned back in her chair. Maybe she could blame the way Akane had rolled over every objection she'd come up with on the interrupted sleep after a long day of training. In truth, she hadn't tried all _that_ hard, had even gotten the other girl to laugh when she'd objected to interrupting her samurai training — with a visit to Nerima of all places, much less the Tendo Dojo! Beyond wondering why Akane wanted her to visit now and to claim the idea as her own — a reason the older girl had refused to disclose, saying it had to wait until she arrived — she'd been feeling more guilty every time she'd refused yet another offer to visit. Still, the need to see Ranko ... Ranma again haunted her dreams, and she'd liked Akane when they first met, and that liking had only grown stronger through their ongoing exchange of emails and vid calls. Yes, she missed them both. But ... _But you just can't stomach the thought of seeing them both ... together._

Still, now that Akane had forced the issue what Usagi mainly felt was overpowering relief — and even _that_ carried its own burden of guilt, because the primary driver of that relief was how the trip would allow her to get away from her family for awhile. It wasn't her father's fault that the two years of slavery had destroyed his career, or her mothers' that the years of being a kitchen drudge had made her silent and withdrawn. And while her brother's decision to drop out of school and run with one of the street gangs now infesting Juuban was his own, his anger constantly bubbling under the surface wasn't his fault, either — she didn't know what had happened to him during the years he'd spent as a field hand, but her suspicions gave her nightmares. And she was so _tired_ of being the happy, cheerful morale driver of the family. Almost the only real breaks she'd gotten were the occasional missions with the other Senshi, and those were just a different kind of pressure cooker. Though at least she got to meet Makoto and Ami during them and Minako was kinda cool, and they'd actually been able to hang out together a few times….

_Buck up, 'Bunny',_ she thought as she stood up to return to her own bed. M_aybe Pluto will tell you that there's an imminent mission and you can't do it. Then you can go back to just feeling stressed instead of stressed and guilty. You'll have to call her first thing in the morning._ Then she paused, struck by a sudden thought. Some of Pluto's summons for missions had come in the middle of the night, so why shouldn't she return the favor? Considering her reputation for being a bit of a ditz (a reputation she fostered these days, both for morale purposes and as camouflage), the Senshi of the Future would probably just pass it off as Usagi being Usagi... She grinned as she turned back to the console and again brought up the vidphone function.

A few minutes later, the soft music of Setsuna's personal waiting pattern broke off as a voice growled from the blank screen ... but not the one she'd been expecting: "Usagi, this had better be good!"

Usagi gasped. "Haruka?! What are _you _—" Then she froze as she suddenly remembered. She wailed, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, I forgot you and Michiru had moved in with Setsuna! Did I wake up Hotaru?"

Her screen lit up to show the androgynously pretty Outer Senshi, haruka's short platinum blonde hair sleep-tousled. But the older woman was chuckling as she shook her head. "Got a little overeager to have some fun with our fearless leader, did you, Bunny? No, you didn't wake up Hotaru. Hold on a moment while I get Setsuna so you can properly poke her."

/\

A few minutes later, Setsuna returned to the bed she now shared with Michiru and Haruka to find her lover of the past year still awake.

"What was that about?" Haruka murmured sleepily, an arm circling the millennia-old woman as Setsuna happily spooned up against her.

"Our princess has been ordered by Akane to visit the Tendo Dojo, and wanted to know if there were any upcoming incursions that would get in the way. I couldn't tell if she was happy or upset when I told her we had a clear board."

Setsuna felt the warm breath of Haruka's chuckle on her neck. "How cute, our princess is growing up and learning life is complicated. Is she going to get her prince now?"

"The first steps, at least."

"Rei and Mamoru will be happy, as much for her as themselves — still, anything that keeps Usagi away from her last life's prince ..." Haruka said through a yawn.

Setsuna murmured back, "Go to sleep, 'ruka, we'll gossip in the morning."

She felt the warmth of another chuckle, but Haruka fell quiet and her breathing soon fell into a sleeping cadence.

But Setsuna found sleep elusive for a time, as she considered Haruka's comment about their princess growing up. _No, lover,_ she thought to herself, smiling at the usual spurt of joy the descriptive brought. (She was still amazed that, after all the millennia alone, she could apply that title to anyone at all and _mean_ it, much less to two girls as wonderful as her tomboy and 'debutante'.) _Our princess grew up in a blood-drenched room almost a year ago — now, it's just a matter of experience. At least she's finally getting something positive from that mess, not just a well-hidden grim determination to never be that helpless again._ She finally drifted off to sleep herself, her dreams a happy mix of the various minor variations of the Princess's homelife to come that the Time Gates had shown her over the past year, as the future had shifted slightly with the vagaries of humanity's combined choices.

/oOo\

Miiko lay on her back on a tarp spread out in front of her rude cabin at the edge of a jungle clearing, the trees dark shadows bracketing the night sky. The earlier rain had lifted and the clouds cleared away, and the stars were out.

In the weeks since her arrival at de Oro's hideaway, Miiko had come to appreciate the stars like she never had before. Stars didn't look at her with pity, or treat her like a child, or get uncomfortable in her presence. Stars didn't make her violently flinch away if they brushed up against her. Stars didn't refuse to let her help cook, or feed her anything that needed to be cut because they didn't trust her with knives. No, stars just spread themselves across the sky night after night, offering their silent beauty in companionship, on those nights that the weather cooperated (most nights, since it was currently the dry season) and yet another nightmare of the serial beatings and rapes she'd suffered under her now-dead master yanked her from her uneasy sleep.

She heard the soft clump-clump of someone wearing boots approaching, and glanced over to see a silhouette that might be the leader of the band of ... rebels? bandits? revolutionaries? crusaders? ... she wasn't sure how to describe them. But then, she hadn't been paying very close attention, caught up in her own nightmare since learning that it had taken a popular investigative reporter less than two days from the initial broadcast of the video of her abused body to discover who she was and post the information on his 'net site, along with college photos and a short biography.

It _was_ Juan de Oro, back from what she assumed was another raid. He was carrying a tarp of his own, and spread it out next to her before lying down to join her in staring up at the stars, all without saying a word. As usual when in his presence, Miiko felt something inside her relax.

For a time the two simply lay there, until de Oro began to speak: "There the wicked cease from turmoil, and there the weary are at rest. Captives also enjoy their ease; they no longer hear the slave driver's shout. The small and the great are there, and the slaves are freed from their owners. Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure, who are filled with gladness and rejoice when they reach the grave?"

The words were like no poem Miiko had ever heard, certainly nothing like the ever-popular haikus, but they'd been spoken with a cadence that seemed to add weight, that sank the words deep into her soul — to her shock, the American crusader actually _understood_.

She turned her head toward de Oro, to find him already watching her. She said, "That wasn't any style that a Japanese would use, but it felt like poetry."

"It is," he replied. "It's from the longest poem in the Bible. It was spoken by Job, a man that knew something of pain and loss. It didn't help that his wife advised him to curse God and die, and that his three friends showed up to tell him how it all must somehow be his fault, punishment for some great sin he'd committed. Most of his part of the poem boils down to insistence on his innocence, that he didn't deserve what had happened to him, and a demand that God put him on trial to prove it."

Miiko looked back up into the night sky. "You've seen the responses online to Kuroki-san's posting of my life story, then," she quietly said. "Everyone expects me to kill myself — complete strangers, school friends, even my mother when he interviewed her. But you don't want me to, do you? Did you give the order to keep me away from knives?"

"Of course I don't want you to kill yourself. I'm a _Christian_, Miiko — we have our own ugly cultural quirks, but making a fetish out of using our own blood to cleanse our honor isn't one of them. But more than that, if you kill yourself the motherless bastard that owned you _wins_."

_"What?"_ Miiko bolted upright to stare down at the man that had led the assault that had rescued her. "How does he win? He's _dead!_"

"Doesn't matter." De Oro gazed up at her for a long moment, then sighed. "Miiko, your master was an example of the worst humanity has to offer, worse even than sadists. He didn't just want to _hurt_ you, he wanted to _destroy_ you — to make you a weak, broken, self-destructive, self-hating testament to his power over others. Don't give him the victory by proving he'd succeeded."

"But ... you've seen my scars, even if I could afford it no amount of plastic surgery could get rid of them all. And the teeth marks — I'll have to dress like a nun to keep people from staring, knowing who I am. And I'll never be able to go to the beach or use a bathhouse again!"

"No, _do_ go to the beach and bathhouse — the ones that divide the sexes, anyway. I _am_ a Christian." Miiko surprised herself by giggling, and saw de Oro's lips twitch at the sound before he continued. "One of the worst aspects of slavery is how _easy_ it makes it for people like your master to prey on the helpless, how it _hands_ them their victims. Miiko, you were in that hellhole for _years_, and no one was legally obligated to check on you because your master's payments were on time and in full. So _don't_ kill yourself, _do_ go out in public. Make yourself a living indictment of your empire's flaws, and if anyone gets in your face about it spit in his eye!"

Miiko thought of the future he was asking of her — the sidelong glances, the whispers, the silences, the way people would shift away from her on trains, even confrontations. She whispered, "I'm not that strong."

"Not yet. But you can be eventually, if you want it enough. You can be whole again."

Miiko stared at him, wide-eyed, and shook as tears began to roll down her cheeks. He spread his arms wide in silent invitation at the sight, and she threw herself into the embrace of the only person in the world that made her feel safe and sobbed out the pain of her years-long living nightmare.

* * *

The chapter title comes from the song of the same name by the Wailin' Jennys (you can find it on Youtube):

The wind howls 'cross the ice floes  
Send the frozen snow skimming  
A river on a river hardened over  
It doesn't know the way it's going  
Is it north or south or westward  
It just glides across the shoreline 'til it's over

You came for me in fast forward  
On a claim for something ordered  
A way through and past the history that held you  
I'd tell my own story through you  
Tell it loud to never lose you  
A moth caught by the flame it cannot measure  
And there we go again, wishing something bolder  
Trying to push and pull inside this moment  
Trying to mold this life within our hands

This is where the whole world keeps on turning  
This is where we come undone ... undone

Will they measure me by branches  
Count the rings and take my ashes  
Mark the ground where I fell and carry on  
Or will we fight against the silence  
Fill our days with noise and violence  
Not recognize our hearts when we are done

There we'll go again wishing something bolder  
Trying to push and pull inside this moment  
Trying to mold this life within our hands

This is where the whole world keeps on turning  
This is where we come undone

We don't know where it's going  
Is it north or south or westward  
It just glides across the shoreline 'til it's over ... 'til it's over


	4. Not the Girl They Knew

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Naoko Takeuchi.

* * *

"Ranma, it's time to go if we want to be there when Usagi arrives."

Keeping in the lotus position, Ranma opened his eyes and turned his head to look at his wife, standing in the dojo entrance. He smiled at the sight — Akane had never been less than beautiful to him throughout her pregnancy, however much she had insisted that she looked like a bloated sow, but once she had recovered from their daughter's birth she had been working hard to get back into shape. The results of her efforts were delightful, and Ranma's eyes traveled the length of T-shirt and shorts tight enough to outline panties and bra, storing the sight against the trip to the train station.

Akane blushed hotly at his gaze, then grinned. "Come on, Baka, you'll have plenty of time to sightsee later. We have to hurry."

Chuckling softly, he rose to his feet and walked over to Akane to embrace her, nuzzling her neck. "Why don't we let Kasumi pick her up?" he murmured. "She can take Ukyo and we can have some fun while we're waiting."

"N-Now, Ranma, Usagi's _our_ friend, and — Ranma!" Akane slapped a roaming hand away from her buttock. "Not in public!" But she was laughing, and Ranma leaned back enough to look her in the face as he grinned.

"We're not exactly in public," he pointed out.

But Akane shook her head as she reluctantly broke their embrace. "Kasumi can see us from the kitchen window," she pointed out. "And as I was saying, Usagi is _our_ friend, and will be _our_ guest. Now let's go."

"Right," Ranma agreed with a sigh. He stepped over to pick up a water bottle by the wall, and seconds later was running her fingers through her now-damp flame-red hair. "Ready," she announced as she adjusted the fit of her clothes. She _really_ hoped that the meditation his wife had interrupted helped.

/\

It didn't. As she walked alongside her wife through the streets of Nerima (now that Akane was recovering, she needed to teach her how to roof-hop), she found her eyes trying to follow every man she passed with a firm butt that moved well. She did her best to keep her gaze centered straight ahead, but the Nerima Blowout had made her a local hero and she just couldn't ignore the friendly greetings from those they passed. Leaving aside the fact that doing so would make her seem as much a stuck-up prig as Tatewaki had been and Kodachi had pretended to be, many of those calling out their greetings must have been part of the 'mobs' that had overrun the slave center, lording government offices and Kuno estate — they _deserved_ to be recognized.

Then the two passed the construction site for the new government offices, and Ranma couldn't keep her head from turning as they passed, her gaze fixed on the horde of very busy, very _fit_ construction workers.

Noticing where her husband's attention was focused, Akane said brightly, "It's good to see the rebuilding, isn't it? It means now that Meioh-dono has bought and brought home the Juubanites Kuno-dono forced into slavery she can finally afford it."

Ranma glanced at her, not sure whether her wife actually hadn't realized that her focus wasn't on the _building_, or was offering her an excuse for her wandering attention. Probably the second, considering the way the heat in Ranma's cheeks suggested that her face was trying to match her hair. Either way ... "Yeah, Usagi's been gushing about how great it is seein' all the folks she knew comin' back."

Akane's smile faltered for a moment. Ranma's description of their friend's behavior was accurate, but she suspected Akane hadn't missed the forced quality to the blonde's performance. Many of those familiar faces probably hadn't proven as familiar as Usagi would have wished. _What would you expect?_ Ranma thought grimly. _Years of slavery are going to change people — look at what a few weeks did to me!_ That wasn't precisely fair, 'Ranko's' time as Tatewaki's sex toy had been pretty intense, but the principle was the same and Ranma wasn't feeling 'precisely fair' on the subject.

Then the library building's clock struck the hour.

"Great, we're late!" Ranma said, and grabbed Akane's hand to pull her into a run. "Come on!" They weren't _that_ late, but running meant that she could ignore any more shouted greetings.

/\

Akane watched Ranma out of the corner of her eye as Usagi's train was slowing to a stop. She hadn't been kidding about their responsibility as hosts to meet Usagi at the train, and Ranma needed to get out of the dojo more often, the way her husband was hiding wasn't good for him. Still, the few excursions they'd made during her pregnancy had been _really_ trying for the youngest Tendo — the way Ranma had quickly taken to only leaving the compound as a busty redhead, the way her eyes would roam, checking out all the men around them. If it had been Before it would have been all Akane could do to keep from hammering her fiancé into the ground, much less pretend not to notice, apparently, she was a better actress than everyone had thought. Though that acting itself had to make her look like a blithering idiot — a poster girl for 'the wife is always the last to know'. The way Ranma had been ogling the construction workers...

_It's not his fault_, she reminded herself yet again, _it's the Menatlist that did this to him. If that's what it takes to make him happy now, then that's what it takes_. Not that that helped keep her heart from clenching whenever she thought of passing Ranma off to someone else. Still, if she _had_ to pass Ranma off to someone else she would rather it was a friend instead of a complete stranger, someone that she knew would take good care of the girl her husband was becoming —

The train doors slid open, the passengers flooding out, and within moments Akane caught sight of the familiar blonde.

Usagi looked _good_. Akane had thought she was too cute for words before, in a soft civilian sort of way, but there was nothing soft about her now — all that was left of that girl was the shoulder-length hair. She wore a tight sleeveless blouse rolled up and tied beneath her breasts, and the muscles on display were smoothly toned. Her gaze as she looked around was sharp and she moved like a fighter, and Akane instantly knew that the cheerfully ditzy victim waiting for a crime scene she'd met almost a year before was gone forever, replaced by a self-confident predator. The people around her sensed it as well, giving her room in spite of the crowding — or perhaps it was the katana and assault rifle on her back between the two large packs slung from her shoulders, and the semi-auto hanging from her belt.

Ranma had seen her, too, and Usagi caught the sound of her former mistress's call and turned toward them, and the self-confident predator Akane had been observing disappeared, replaced by the girl she'd known as the blonde bounced toward them. "Ranko, Akane!" she called out happily, then blushed red as she joined them. She muttered, "Sorry, I meant 'Ranma'."

"No, ya meant 'Ranko'," Ranma replied, then smiled. "Not yer fault, that's how ya knew me. Now put down yer bags." Usagi's two bags thunked onto the station's concrete floor, then she 'eep'ed as Ranma stepped forward and pulled the younger girl into a hug.

Akane's eyebrows rose as Usagi hesitantly returned the embrace, glancing at Akane before giving the embrace the response it deserved. Before the Blowout Ranma had avoided public displays of affection like the plague, and even now he was hesitant except when around only family. Then Akane grinned — Usagi had picked up a few inches in the past year, like practically everyone else she was now taller than Ranma's girl form instead of the same height.

Akane cleared her throat and the two girls broke apart, Ranma blushing furiously. "Right, let's get ya to the dojo, show ya to Ukyo," the redhead said, picking up one of Usagi's bags.

Akane ignored Usagi's protests to pick up the other bag, and her eyebrows rose again — the bag wasn't heavy enough to cause her any real trouble, not as strong as she was, but it was heavier than she'd expected _Usagi_ to handle, as easily as the girl had been moving. Her estimate of the girl's strength bumped up a couple of notches. She slung the bag over her shoulder, and as the three walked through the entrance onto the street, Usagi bracketed by her hosts, she asked, "What do you _have_ in here? Did you manage to shove in an entire suit of armor?"

Usagi shook her head (glancing around as she did so, Akane was impressed by her situational awareness — she just needed to learn to make it less obvious). "No, it's mostly ammo for the Walther," Usagi replied, touching the semi-auto at her hip. "I can buy ammo for the Kamikaze easily enough —" she shrugged, bouncing the assault rifle "— but my Walther isn't the usual wristbreaker samurai seem to prefer, so the ammo isn't as readily available. Sensei said something about Japanese men overcompensating, do you know what he was talking about?"

Akane laughed as Ranma sputtered, then asked, "Why the guns at all? They aren't needed to get your samurai certification."

" 'Cause she's serious about bein' a samurai, instead a' just gettin' her certificate stamped, anyone serious about usin' the certificate fer most jobs learn," Ranma replied from Usagi's other side. "_Pop_ made sure I knew the basics, and he didn't like 'em at all."

"Oh." Akane frowned. "If learning about guns is so important, then the certification requirements are _really_ out of date. Come to think about it, they always have been — the requirements were set by Tokugawa, and he had to know how important muskets were when we conquered Korea."

Ranma shrugged. "A sop ta the traditionalists," he said. "Same reason fer why they haven't been updated — this way a long-time samurai family can get certified an' stay that way, even if none a' them have seen battle fer centuries 'cause they're too busy runnin' their shop."

"Oh," Akane said again, and sighed. "Great, one more thing to add to my training in the Tendo school now that I'm back on my feet." _One more thing that Daddy didn't teach me when he was bothering to train me at all._ She shoved the uncomfortable — almost disloyal — thought aside as Usagi spoke up.

"I'll teach you, Akane," Usagi said brightly, "it'll be fun!"

"Thanks, Usagi, I'd like that," Akane replied.

Usagi beamed, then turned toward Ranma when the redhead asked a question about her training. Akane listened absentmindedly as Usagi happily responded at length, watching Ranma out of the corner of her eye. Since Usagi had exited the train, her husband's attention had been fixed on the bubbly blonde, ignoring the men they passed on the street (well, except for the patrolman walking his beat, but he might have asked Usagi for her certificate signed by a certified sensei authorizing her to carry her weapons while in training — not that there was much chance of that when she was with the Saotomes).

_Yes,_ Akane thought,_ this might work._

/oOo\

"You want me to _what_?!" Usagi demanded from where she sat in the same spot on Akane's bed as Kasumi, the night Akane had invited her to visit. Also as on that night, Akane sitting on her chair nursing little Ukyo.

"Shhhhh!" Akane hissed, glancing furtively toward the window. The two girls listened to the continuing clack of bokken on bokken as Ranma sparred with his mother on the narrow strip of lawn between their side of the house and the dojo compound wall, and Akane finally relaxed then turned to her baby as Ukyo began to fuss.

"I want you to seduce Ranma," she repeated quietly as she looked down at her baby. "Actually, I want you to seduce 'Ranko'."

"Okay, that makes a _little_ more sense, but ..._ why_?" Usagi demanded more quietly. She'd had more than a few erotic dreams of her 'mistress' taking advantage of that status more than a few times over the past almost-year, but she'd never imagined that when Akane had used the nursing and Ranma's training with his mother as an excuse to _finally_ pull Usagi aside for some 'girl-talk' she would offer her the opportunity to make those dreams a reality.

Akane sighed, then looked up as she told Usagi about the dreams Ranma had been having over and over, that sent her husband to the furo in the early hours of the morning to relieve _her_ ... stress. Though she was careful to leave out the discussion with Kasumi, and her totally serious acceptance of her sister's half-jesting request. She _still_ didn't know what impulse had led her to agree so readily but she wasn't going to back out now that she had — she couldn't do that to _Kasumi_. But however much she liked Usagi, that was a matter for family.

Still, what she _did_ tell her was enough to leave a stunned Usagi staring at the wall. "She dreams about me," she murmured, smiling dreamily, only to instantly sober when Akane winced. "Akane, it doesn't have to be _me_," she said. "Why d-d-d-don't ..." She paused, and took a deep breath before trying again. Blushing furiously, she said, "Why don't _you_ ... help her out?"

Akane shrugged. "_She_ just doesn't interest me," she said as offhandedly as she could manage, "and as it turns out, I'm not a good enough actress to pretend I am." Deciding that Ukyo had had enough, she closed up her bra, pulled down her T-shirt and smoothed a towel over her shoulder before shifting her daughter up to burp her, then refocused on Usagi. Finding the blonde gazing sympathetically at her, Akane shrugged the shoulder Ukyo wasn't resting against. "No, I'm not exactly happy about this. But Ranma's happiness is what matters and if that takes _Ranko_ spending some happy hours in bed with our good — and very cute — friend, then that's what it takes."

Before Usagi had a chance to respond, Ranma shouted from below, "Hey, Tomboy! You two about done? Usagi's up!"

Akane stepped to the window and looked down at her husband and mother-in-law. Ranma looked as fresh as ever, of course, but Nodoka was half-collapsed against a tree trunk and guzzling down the contents of a water bottle. Akane called down to her husband, "We'll be right down!" Turning back and striding toward the door, she said to Usagi in passing, "At least think about it."

"Like I'm going to be able to think about anything else," Usagi muttered as she fell in behind her host. "Ranma is going to beat me like a _drum_."

/oOo\

_Several days later:_

Nabiki leaned back in the chair in front of her bedroom computer and rubbed at weary eyes. Between learning how to manage a mid-level corporation, ramping up her own little Nerima-based otokodate and begin pushing into Juuban, and the family time Kasumi was insisting on, the middle Tendo was _seriously_ behind on her sleep.

Her concerns over her current situation weren't helping. She was essentially running a mid-level corporation out of her bedroom and she was amazed that she had been able to pull it off as long as she had, but she was reaching her limits. She could do only so much through the 'net, teleconferencing and occasional commutes to Hawaii, but she badly needed to keep a hands-on presence for the otokodate — she was building a rep in her part of Edo's underworld, but she couldn't do that from Hawaii. She didn't really have anyone that could replace her, anyway. And then there was her so far unsuccessful search for a discreet doctor willing to go all the way to the back of beyond of Daerah Selatan to examine the girl de Oro had pulled out of that hellhole, and her apparent brain implant. Not even the weeks that Ranma had spent as a slave had been this frustrating — more desperate, absolutely, as frustrating, no. Then she'd only been juggling one ball instead of three.

Noticing the clack of bokken on bokken coming through her open window, she rose and stepped over to look down at Usagi slowly backpedaling along the grass as Nodoka pressed her advantage, Ranma in male form watching from the sidelines. To Nabiki's experienced eye Nodoka and Usagi were fairly evenly matched, though Nodoka would be the better in the end. In this as in the other skills of the samurai that Nabiki had seen Usagi practicing in her few snatched breaks from her own work, the young blonde was _not_ a natural, not even close — she was as good as she was now through sheer bloody-minded determination, but that could carry one only so far and she was probably getting close to her limits.

Nabiki grinned as Usagi parried with a twisting move that she hadn't seen before, pushing Nodoka's bokken out of line — not far enough that Usagi was able to get a touch, but Nodoka's block was awkward and she was unable to keep the teenager from slipping past her, and now _Nodoka_ was the one pinned against the imaginary line at the end of the house that marked the limits of their sparring area. A quick flurry of strikes and Nodoka had stepped back one pace too far, and Ranma called out, "Point! Advantage Usagi."

Usagi flashed Ranma a grin, and Nabiki frowned again. That was another thing that was frustrating her. There were some very _odd_ undercurrents in her family right now — between Ranma and Akane and Kasumi, between Ranma and Akane and Usagi, but _not_ between Kasumi and Usagi. Of course Ranma was oblivious, but Nodoka, at least, seemed to be aware the undercurrents ... and found the whole situation amusing. But Nabiki ... the Ice Queen of Furinkan, CEO and rising otokodate boss, was out of the loop and she _hated_ that — and didn't have the time to investigate.

_Well, you'll just have to go on being frustrated,_ she thought as she turned back to her computer. _Navel-gazing won't clear those folders off your desktop._ Plunking herself back down into her chair with a sigh, she popped open the next file in her queue just as her vidphone icon began blinking as a pop-up identified the caller.

Nabiki hastily accepted the call, and a moment later a window opened on her screen to show the smiling raven-hair-framed face of Meioh-dono's personal secretary. Nabiki wondered absently if Saitou Miliko had ever imagined when she was purchased at auction by Meioh-_san_ (in the same auction Ranma was sold off, oddly enough) that she'd end up working personally for a Family's Lady.

Nabiki leaned back and asked with a grin, "So, what can I do for the Commoners' Lady today?"

Miliko grinned back. The two had found out that they had similar somewhat mocking senses of humor during one long conversation, when Nabiki had had to wait for awhile in the room in the Kuno mansion set aside for Meioh-dono's secretary and waiting appointments. She'd arrived to sign the last of the papers transferring the Hawaii plantations to Ranma, and found herself waiting while the new Lady sorted out some incompetents she'd just inherited. "Meioh-dono wonders if the Wunderkind of Nerima would grace her with her presence for lunch, tomorrow. She has an offer for you."

"She does?" Nabiki straightened. "What kind of offer?"

Miliko shrugged. "She didn't say. So tomorrow at noon, here at the estate, business casual. Can you be here?"

"Of course," Nabiki replied, and the two exchanged a few pleasantries before ending the call. Nabiki leaned back again and rubbed at her face. _Great, one more mystery. At least this one will have a quick answer._ Sighing again, she refocused on the file she'd opened just as the call came in. She was going to be working through dinner, however much Kasumi wanted her there — if she was going to meet Meioh-dono the next day she needed to be at her best, and _that_ meant an early night to bed. Her best didn't mean punch-drunk with fatigue.

* * *

Yup, Akane's making the same old mistakes, just with a somewhat different result. As always thanks for all the great reviews, now on to _Ranma, the Naïve Succubus: The Flower War_!

**Rose1948:** Yeah, more than a few readers have commented that I tend to be hard on my protagonists. And yes, while I've never done a songfic (though more than one song has shaped a chapter or even seriously impacted the setting), you can consider those songs to be "mood" music.

**Wharpt:** Usagi's secret life might not be as big a surprise as you'd think. The NWC has seen some _weird_ crap and Usagi is pretty impressive right now, compared to what she used to be. As for a meeting between the Emperor and at least one of the Sailor Senshi/NWC, that's slated for the sequel (assuming I write it). And yes, the circumstances and outcome of that meeting are pretty impressive.

**Vld:** Yeah, I think Juan de Oro is one of my better creations. And Kasumi probably won't be a part of any harem — if she takes Akane up on her offer, it would be at most an occasional thing, only for procreation. In this, at least, Akane probably gets it right. Of course, this is subject to change without notice, subject to Calliope's whims...

**OddWallow:** I'm not sure how "Ranma-centric" this is going to be. Certainly he's one of the central characters, but I find that I tend to have multiple central characters — makes sense, actually, team superhero comics were always my favorite, I just prefer an ensemble cast. And yeah, Ranma hasn't gotten the help he needs. You're right about his nature, he isn't one for admitting to weakness. And you're also right that people of the Mentalist's sheer power are far and few between, and as far as he knew he was the only one to figure out how to make large-scale personality alterations. But even if they could find another one, Ranma would have a _really_ tough time letting him/her in.

**Shinzochi:** To give Setsuna a bit of a break, she set things up for legal slavery's continuation rather than its existence, and it was because she screwed up rather than the intended result. Still, you couldn't kick her for it more than she's been kicking herself ever since. And yeah, I don't much like the bottom-feeding, ambulance chasing-style reporter, either. They're socially useful, even necessary, in keeping an eye on the rich and powerful, but what they do can get pretty ugly sometimes.

**Hector:** Yeah, Kasumi was half-joking, she didn't really expect Akane to take her up on it. Neither did Akane, actually, and now she's stuck thanks to her pride and love for her sister. And yeah, Akane isn't exactly happy with the whole messed-up situation, either.


	5. Piling It On

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Naoko Takeuchi.

* * *

The guard at the front gate of the formerly Kuno/now-Meioh estate discreetly sniffed as Nabiki strode past him, but not discreetly enough and Nabiki suppressed a wince. Her reflexive tendency to keep secrets had really turned around to bite her this time — if Akane had known that Nabiki was meeting Meioh-dono for lunch, she wouldn't have suggested that she join her, Usagi and Ranma at the local gun range that morning. But Akane hadn't known, and Nabiki hadn't known enough to realize just how much the smell of gunpowder would cling to her clothes. _Or maybe I'd still be in this fix even if Akane _had_ known about my lunch date — it's not like little sis has used guns much, perhaps she wouldn't have known, either._

Either way there hadn't been time to return to the dojo to clean up and change before her lunch meeting with Nerima's first Lady, but when she'd called to say as much and apologize profusely (not to say grovel, if one was being blunt) Meioh-dono's secretary had ultimately told her to come as she was.

Then she was at the massive front doors of the mansion, and one eyebrow rose when one door swung open to reveal that selfsame secretary rather than the servant Nabiki had expected. "Hey, Nabiki, glad you made it, let's go." Miliko turned to lead the newcomer to her luncheon, commenting as she did, "You weren't kidding about your new aroma. I don't think gunpowder is going to the latest popular scent any time soon."

Nabiki's other eyebrow rose — 'business casual' was one thing, but this level of 'casual' was one that Nabiki hadn't experienced even in school, at least not in her last two years after she'd become known as the 'Ice Queen'. She asked, "It won't be a problem?"

"Not at all, you'll see," Miliko replied, then changed the subject to the new government building that was _finally_ under construction, and how happy the servants would be to get all the outsiders out from underfoot. ("Even if they're too well trained to say anything, you can tell.")

Nabiki listened to the conversation stream with half an ear — making generic responses at the appropriate moments and filing away possibly useful tidbits — while most of her attention was on the wealth on display in the corridors. She frowned as they walked along, her frown deepening with each new hallway they turned into. Finally she interrupted Miliko to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the dining room I visited last time I was here."

"Oh, we aren't going there," Miliko responded blithely. "After you called Meioh-dono instructed the servants to shift the luncheon to her private quarters."

"What?!" Nabiki's head whipped around toward her guide, just as Miliko stopped by a nondescript door (well, nondescript for _this_ mansion) and slid it open.

"Here you go, enjoy!"

Nabiki hesitantly stepped into a parlor and looked around at the cozy setting (easy chairs for relaxing, a large screen TV on the wall and a wireless computer console below it, a small table), then jumped slightly as the door slid closed behind her. This was turning out to be as far from a typical business lunch as one could get, and she was feeling _very_ off-center. Then she noticed a doll off in one corner sitting in a small chair by an equally small table, and remembered the young girl being raised by the two girls about the same age as Nabiki, that had moved into Meioh-dono's home ... and bed. She grinned at the memory of the excitement _that_ had caused. The nobility had been scandalized, of course — taking lovers was nothing unusual, though lovers of the same sex were — but having them actually _move into your home_ just wasn't done. But the common people had loved it—not only did they get to contemplate a bunch of stuck-up better-than-you's with their noses out of joint, but it was obvious to anyone watching the three with a clear eye (four when Haru ... Hakura ... Hotaru! ... joined them) that the relationship wasn't based on just pleasure and money, and the commoners loved them for it — even the Christians, in spite of the 'sinful' relationship.

With the sight of little Hotaru's toys reminding her that there was more to her host than a canny and quietly ruthless businesswoman turned Lady, Nabiki took a steadying breath and called out, "Hello?"

"In here!"

The call came from the open doorway directly across from the door to the hall, and Nabiki strode through to find a small dining room, empty of people but with another open door to her right leading into a bedroom. The bedroom tastefully decorated in blues, whites and greens was also empty but had two other doors. The closed one was obviously _not_ her destination — the name 'Hotaru' spelled out in Latin alphabet blocks stuck to a piece of wood, obviously without benefit of a straight edge from the way the letters meandered, made that clear. It reminded her of the signs she and her sisters had made for _their_ bedrooms when they were children. Smiling faintly at the memory, Nabiki strode over to the open door, only to pause at the sight of the two women in a sunken furo to one side of the _immense_ bathroom.

Kuno — no, _Meioh_ Kodachi lifted a hand in greeting, then popped the bite-sized sandwich she was holding in her mouth. The former Kuno was instantly recognizable even though she was no longer wearing her hair in an off-center ponytail.

Beside her adopted daughter, Meioh-dono smiled and waved a hand toward an open slot in the bathroom wall. She said, "Strip down and join us. Put your clothes in the slot, and they'll be clean by the time you leave."

Nabiki filed that away without revealing her surprise — that statement implied that the 'meeting' would be longer than the usual lunch. She bowed then followed her marching orders, hastily stripping down and shoving her clothes through the slot before sitting on a nearby stool to soap up and rinse herself off. A few moments later she was easing herself into the steaming water, carefully avoiding the plates loaded with finger food and full pitchers of what she assumed was water that surrounded the furo.

Once she was safely settled and had popped a few mini-sandwiches and pieces of fruit in her mouth, she glanced over at her hostess. "I have to say that this is a marvelous piece of improvisation," she said. "Too bad I can't do the same with my own business lunches, but even if I had a furo like this everyone I've been meeting with are men." Switching her gaze to Kodachi, she added, "But I'm a little surprised to find _you_ here. Weren't you attending an opening ceremony for another dojo for rhythmic gymnastics martial arts?"

Kodachi smiled, as happy to talk about her current passion as Nabiki had expected. "We're calling them schools, some of the martial arts masters objected." She made a face at her mention of the hidebound navelgazers she'd met, then shrugged. "It's a better name, anyway, more likely to bring in students that just want to learn how to defend themselves or for the exercise instead of working toward samurai status. But today's opening was a school for the younger set, so it was short — before we bored all those poor children to death."

Nabiki chuckled, and glanced at the emerald-haired woman on her other side. "Is Hotaru one of the new students?"

Meioh-dono shook her head. "No, she's a little weak for that, but her mothers and I are hoping that she'll grow strong enough eventually."

The small talk stayed light and on personal lives (with Kodachi asking after Ranma, and hanging on Nabiki's stories of the misadventures of caring for little Ukyo) as the three grazed the various plates until that grazing grew thin, until finally Meioh-dono sighed and set aside the glass of water she'd been sipping.

"As fun as this has been, we have things we need to discuss," she said.

Nabiki glanced over at Kodachi, and the Meioh heir smiled wistfully. "I believe you will be more comfortable discussing business if I'm not here," she said, "thank you for the news of how Ranma's really doing." She twisted and rose to step out of the furo and over to the towels. Vigorously drying herself off (Nabiki discreetly eyeing what flashes she could see of the now-revealed well-toned body, Kodachi hadn't discernibly gone soft over the almost-year of peace), she swiftly pulled on her favorite clothes (black leotard of course, but with the addition of a white wrap-around skirt) and was gone.

Once the door closed behind her, Meioh-dono leaned back with a sigh, resting her head on the low wall around the furo and closing her eyes. "To begin," she said quietly, "I'd like to thank you for your help in Juuban. It has been, perhaps literally, a _God_send."

Nabiki froze. While she had donated some of the profits from the Hawaiian plantations she was managing to help out in that economically devastated district of Edo, those donations had been inconsequential — simple markers, to get her name on lists. The _ministers_ that de Oro had forwarded to her and that she was secretly funding, on the other hand, by all accounts _were_ having a real impact. But that link was through Nabiki the rising otokodate oyabun, _not_ Nabiki the spectacularly young corporate manager. But maybe Meioh-dono was just overstating her financial contributions to be polite —

Meioh-dono opened her eyes and refocused on her stiff guest with a weary smile. "Those preachers have been a big help getting the new street gangs under control — those are good kids, just traumatized. They need a focus and an explanation for what happened to them — to their world — and the preachers are giving them those answers ... or at least, answers they can build a life on, whether or not they are actually true. Though I suspect those kids will supply you with a steady stream of foot soldiers as they finish growing up."

_She knows._ Nabiki forced herself to relax and shrugged nonchalantly. "You're right, they'll come in handy down the road," she said. "But better me than some typical otokodate thug. At least I'm trying to make the world a better place — or our piece of it, at least."

Meioh-dono picked up and raised her glass of water in salute. "Welcome to the club. Feels good to have a purpose beyond your own self-aggrandizement, doesn't it?"

_Of course she knows about my high school career,_ Nabiki thought wryly. _Why not? She knows about everything else_. "Yes, it does. The price I paid for it was high, though."

"It often is. As a wise man once said, what we achieve too easily we esteem too lightly. Or something to that effect."

For a moment Meioh-dono focused on something only she could see, then shook off her abruptly melancholy mood and straightened. "... proposition," she said.

Nabiki had missed the first few words, her gaze fixed on the high firm breasts that lifted from the water when Meioh-dono straightened — being bisexual was handy, plenty of extra eye candy even if Nabiki was living like a nun (or at least as nuns were _supposed_ to live), but it _did_ cause the occasional problem. When she finally managed to force her eyes north, she found that those breasts' owner was smirking.

"Like what you see?" Meioh-dono asked, then laughed at Nabiki's deer-in-the-headlights look as the younger woman blushed crimson. "Relax, I'm not going to be insulted that you find me attractive — I'd be a hypocrite if I did, considering who's sharing my bed." Taking pity on her poor guest, she lowered herself until her breasts were again covered by water. "Anyway, as I said, I have a business proposition for you. I'd like to sell you the Meioh plantations in Daerah Selatan."

Nabiki froze again, jaw dropping. The Daerah Selatan plantations? Seriously!? Her mind raced as she thought of what she could do with plantations on _both_ sides of the Empire, Hawaii in the middle of the Pacific facing the United States and Daerah Selatan archipelago with the Pacific Ocean on one side and the Indian Ocean on the other, Australia to the south — if she could just _manage_ that far-flung a business empire (for a moment her shock-benumbed mind considered the quirk of history that had a Japanese territory with a Latin name, before she shoved it aside). "Be great ... I ... I can't ... pay ... manage ... trouble already ... why!?" she babbled.

Meioh-dono giggled at how she'd reduced her guest to incoherency before replying, "Money's no problem, I'll give you a loan to cover the purchase — you'll find the terms _very_ reasonable. As for managing it, that's another reason I wanted to talk to you."

She closed her eyes and leaned back again before continuing, "When you were running your little gang in high school, the qualities you looked for were loyalty and obedience, right? Subordinates that were observant enough, but mainly that would keep their mouths shut and follow orders."

"I ... well, yes, I suppose..." Nabiki managed to get out as her mind finally rebooted.

"That isn't going to work for you, not anymore, too hands-on ... small-time," Meioh-dono said. "You're already stretched beyond your limits, and you're about to lose some of your best managers in Hawaii because you won't leave them alone to do their jobs. You need to learn to pick people you can trust and _trust_ them. Jump on them a bit when they screw up, of course, but give them room to make mistakes and a chance to fix the damage when they do. You only step in if they don't fix any systemic flaws that lead to mistakes or prove to be congenital screw-ups, or start fighting or empire-building. _Your_ job is to provide an overall vision and keep your eye on the big picture."

Nabiki tucked away the fact that Meioh-dono still had well-placed spies among her Hawaiian workforce and undoubtedly would in Daerah Selatan as well, and nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, I can see that," she mused, "but it'll be quite a change in my style. Any books you could recommend for guidance on how?"

"I can do better. Since I'm selling you even more plantations, it would make sense for me to loan you someone to help manage the unification. Yosida-san has been with me for years, and since I became the Lady of Nerima has been handling his new role as troubleshooter flawlessly."

"Okay, sounds good." It also helped make Nabiki an unofficial part of Meioh-dono's business empire (_even more_ of an unofficial part, really), but she desperately needed help with few people she trusted enough to accept help from — and only one with the resources and knowledge she needed at the moment that she trusted that much, if only because Meioh-dono had set her up in the first place. "So why are you selling the plantations to me? I thought you'd enjoy cleaning them up after what de Oro's little attack revealed."

"Those revelations are _why_ I'm selling them to you." Meioh-dono opened her eyes and straightened again, and this time Nabiki was too focused on the discussion to be distracted by the again-revealed breasts (though she did tuck the image away for later daydreaming — Meioh-dono really did have a _magnificent_ body). Her Lady continued, "When you accepted my invitation you called me 'the Commoner's Lady'. That's a handy label, with the reputation that goes with it, but that reputation is one of _mercy _— of rescuing a young woman ... girl, really ... who suddenly found herself out of her depth and following it up with rescuing as many Juuban commoners as I can manage. If I stomp on the bottom-feeders currently managing my Daerah Selatan plantations the way they deserve that public image of me as Kannon incarnate will be gone, and it's still too useful to me. But after Hawaii your own image is very different, and cleaning up Daerah Selatan will only enhance it. So what do you say, will you buy them?"

Nabiki sighed at the new workload, though at least now there was some light at the end of the tunnel. "You know I will," she said, "and thank you."

"No, thank _you_," Meioh-dono replied, then glanced past her guest. "And from the light over the bin, it seems your clothes are clean." She rose to stand in the furo and turned toward Nabiki, making her guest's mouth go dry as her eyes involuntarily roamed from water-beaded breasts to trimmed and water-dark green fuzzed pubic mound. "Let's get dressed and join Kodachi for desert, you'll love it."

* * *

So things are getting both better and worse for Nabiki at the same time, fun... As always, thanks for the reviews!

**Rose1948:** Nothing wrong with an exercise analogy, it's true enough. Writers need the occasional downtime or they'll wear out their readers. Besides, most of any story is going to be set-up and mini-climaxes before the blowout.

**Wharpt:** An interesting scenario, if I was the type to do omakes I'd write it up! ^_^ As for Nodoka, we'll be seeing at least a bit more of her, how much is still up in the air. And Nabiki's help to date has been technical, mainly because she didn't ask for more. Consider this chapters events to be a lesson in admitting when she's in over her head.

**Diablo4000:** What's true for Setsuna is actually true of everyone — we may do our best to fix what and who we break, but we can't ever make it not-have-broken. The best we can do is try to learn from our screw-ups, fix things as much as we can, hope whoever we hurt can forgive us, and move on. Setsuna's still in the "fix things as much as she can" stage, and has been for centuries.


	6. The Doctor Is In

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Naoko Takeuchi.

* * *

_A week later:_

A gi-clad Usagi stepped lightly to her left, her hands raised head high with the bokken they held slanted down at an angle, feet firm on the dojo's thin mat — a little too firm, actually, she'd gotten used to the slightly slick grass, but the rain that morning had had them moving their training inside. Of course, the _afternoon's_ training would be outside whether the rain hung on or not — Ranma had muttered something about training as you fought.

The blonde's gaze was intent with not a hint of her normal bubbly good cheer on her face (a good cheer that was actually becoming true again, in the days she'd spent with the Tendos as an aching tightness at her core relaxed). At the moment, her entire world consisted of her sparring partner. Nodoka turned in place, the older woman's face calm, her guard perfect. Or nearly perfect — the brace the Saotome matriarch wore on her right hand and wrist threw her grip off by the slightest hair. Not that the presence of the brace had kept her from trouncing Usagi more often than not in spite of the girl's almost a year's worth of intense training. Still, the brace _was_ there, and Usagi was about to find out whether a little theory she'd come up with would work, right ... about ... now!

Usagi flowed forward with hard-earned grace, bokken flashing down. Nodoka's own bokken swept up to intercept her first strike, second, teisted to block the third ... and the bokken lifted to _just_ the right height and angle. Usagi instantly shifted her attack to Nodoka's bokken, slamming into it with a loud clack of wood on wood, pushing in a direction that the brace on Nodoka's hand simply didn't permit. Inevitably, Nodoka's grip failed and her bokken spun across the dojo, and Usagi grinned as her own bokken whipped around and up toward her sparring partner's neck — and a moment later found herself pinwheeling across the dojo to thud into the wall directly above Nodoka's bokken, a few yards away from Akane.

"Owie."

Usagi slowly sat up, rubbing her back and head where they'd impacted the wall as she waited for the stars spangling her vision to fade, then accepted a giggling Akane's offer of a hand up. Once on her feet, she glared at Ranma where she was now standing next to her mother ('her' at the moment thanks to a spatter of wind-blown rain under the covered walkway to the dojo, and Usagi ignored a spurt of longing at the sight of the redhead). "What did you sneak up and do that for, I _had_ her!" Usagi complained, now rubbing her sore butt.

"Actually, you were lookin' at a mutual kill," Ranma replied. "Ya were so focused on yer strike that ya didn't notice Mom goin' fer her backup. If it was a real fight, she woulda been spillin' yer guts about the time you were takin' her head." Usagi's eyes widened as Nodoka lifted the wakizashi-length bokken that had been at her waist, and was now in her off hand.

Ranma added, "And I didn't 'sneak up on ya'. I just walked up to ya — no, I strolled, _sauntered_. I did everything but bring along a marchin' band, and ya didn't even notice." He shrugged. "Ya did good takin' advantage a' Mom's brace, but you're trainin' ta be a warrior, not a duelist. Ya need ta keep focused on what's goin' on around ya as well as yer enemy, in case yer enemy's friends decide ta join the fun."

"Oh," Usagi muttered, blushing furiously. No wonder Akane had been giggling, it must have looked hilarious.

Ranma grinned (Usagi's stomach fluttered at the sheer cuteness). "Hey, don't sweat it, you're gettin' better. An' me an' Akane'll take care a' yer focus problem. Now take a break. Mom, you too. Akane, you're up."

As her raven-haired friend grabbed her pad-covered steel staff from where it leaned against the wall and eagerly joined her husband in the middle of the dojo, Usagi walked over to where the towels and water bottles were against the wall. She tossed one of each to Nodoka before using her own towel to wipe at her sweaty face, then glanced over to the doorway at the sound of someone walking along the outside walkway. A moment later a familiar slightly damp pageboy-haired brunette stepped inside. Nabiki glanced around then walked over to join Usagi, slipping her bookbag from her shoulder and lowering it to the floor. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

Usagi grimaced, then quickly replaced it with a wide smile, declaiming happily, "How could I not be with such a _wonderful_ teacher?" Then, more soberly, "You're back rather early, aren't you?"

Nabiki chuckled at Usagi's rapid apparent mood shift from bubbly airhead to the more serious girl she was getting to know, then shrugged. "Actually, I'm back when I expected to be, you've just been having too much fun. Kasumi's already gone shopping with Ukyo."

"She has?" Usagi glanced at the windows, but with the overcast skies the shadows were too diffuse to really tell how late it was. "So everything went all right?"

"Yup, all the paperwork is signed, Tendo Ranko is now the single largest plantation owner in Daerah Selatan. I'll be leaving with Kodachi for a tour of our new acquisitions in a few days."

Usagi frowned at the mention of her dead master's sister. "Why is _she_ going along?"

Nabiki shrugged, then stepped to one side as Akane slammed into the wall between the two and dropped to the floor. Her youngest sister looked up blearily at the pair. "Hey big sis, welcome back," she mumbled before kipping back to her feet and charging toward Ranma.

Nabiki chuckled and shook her head. As if they hadn't been interrupted, she said, "Meioh-dono said it would demonstrate that it's a friendly transfer and we can't be played off against each other, but I think she just wants Kodachi to get out of the house for awhile."

"Ah." Usagi let it drop, though she doubted that Setsuna's reasoning was that simple — it never was, not _that_ subtle manipulator. Still, it probably wasn't her affair and Usagi had more important concerns. "You simply _must_ take Ranma with you!" she enthused. " 'Ranko' is the owner, after all, she ought to see it for herself."

"Oh?" Nabiki quirked an eyebrow. "Ranma wouldn't want to leave Akane and baby behind, so they'd have to go as well. And since you're their guest, it would be rude to just send you home — you just want a tropical vacation!"

"Aw, pretty please?" Usagi begged, pouting, tilting her head to gaze up mournfully at Nabiki.

Nabiki threw up her hands in a warding gesture. She cried in mock horror, "Anything but the dreaded puppy dog eyes!"

"Pleeeease?"

"Okay, okay, I'll ask," Nabiki replied in all-too easy capitulation. "Actually, it's not a bad idea — bring along Nodoka and Kasumi, make a complete party of it. With the Amazon bodyguards I'm hiring it should be safe enough, and we could all probably do with a change of scenery."

Usagi spun around in place as she shouted, "Yay!"

Nabiki laughed, the first time Usagi could remember and she smiled at her success (finally!), then the two looked around at the sound of a body slamming into the mat. They found Akane pushing herself up with one hand and rubbing her head with the other, glaring up at the smug redhead. "Don't get distracted," Ranma scolded, shaking a finger at her wife. "I don't care how wild a party Usagi and Nabiki are havin', ya pay attention ta me, not them. Now let's try that again."

Akane grumbled as she rolled over the staff she'd managed to hold on to and rose to her feet, but took the stance that Ranma had found in her father's scrolls, the solid basic position of the Tendo School of Anything Goes, staff held at a slant. "Ready."

Usagi stepped back over beside Nabiki and watched as Ranma flowed forward, and Akane's staff blurred as she parried those rapidfire blows Ranma simply didn't abort. Akane went on the offensive, sweeping the staff at Ranma's feet, then trying to knock her out of the air when she leaped over the blow only for Ranma to twist and _bend_ around the staff somehow, the staff's tip barely clipping her. As Usagi and Nabiki watched Ranma land on her hands and roll away from her wife, the younger girl murmured, "So what's been bothering you? Anything I can help with?"

Nabiki kept her eyes fixed on her sister and brother-in-law, her face going blank. She asked, "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Because _Kasumi_ thinks something's wrong," Usagi, replied, "she's been watching you." She hurriedly added, "She isn't _scared_, she just ... watches."

Nabiki frown thoughtfully, glancing sidelong at Usagi, but finally shrugged. "Even if you can't help, I suppose there's no harm in telling you," she said. "I almost told Meioh-dono, after all, and you should be more trustworthy than she is." She knelt to pick up her bookbag (and so missing Usagi's wince) and pulled out her tablet. Turning it on, she tapped on it a few times and handed it to Usagi. "Remember the girl with all the scars that was liberated from one of Meioh-dono's Daerah Selatan plantations? Check this out."

Usagi's eyes narrowed at the pair of photographs displayed on the tablet—a neck, probably a woman's, hair pulled up out of the way, and at the base of the skull, what looked in one photo kind of like a wall outlet plug. In the other photo — "What is it? It looks like a computer slot."

"Yes, it _does_ look like a computer port, but we don't know what it is," Nabiki replied. "Whatever it is, it's implanted — it actually goes into the skull as best we can tell." She hesitated, then reluctantly added, "And that girl has been Adjusted, too. She doesn't know the plug's there, can't feel it, doesn't remember it after anyone tells her it's there. That kind of mental alteration doesn't come cheap, this is _important_ to somebody. So I need a doctor willing and able to make a _discreet_ trip to the back-of-beyond of Daerah Selatan to examine her, that'll keep his mouth shut afterwards. You wouldn't happen to have that doctor in your pocket, would you?"

Usagi's giggle had a distinctly forced sound, dying quickly as she remembered the girl Nabiki had mentioned, and the video footage that circled her naked body, revealing every bruise and scar from blows, whip and teeth. Between her training and nighttime outings at Sailor Pluto's behest she hadn't had the time to join the new non-Christian anti-slavery organization that had sprung up in Juuban — one of many Pluto had said, even if they weren't being reported on the newsfeeds — but she had wanted to. Her childhood friend Naru had and had asked her to come along, and saying no had been one of the hardest things in Usagi's short life she'd ever done. Now she stared at the tablet in her now shaking hands, face grim as she realized that what that poor girl had gone through was only beginning, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it!

"I'm sorry, Nabiki, but the only doctor in my hip pocket will have already turned you down," she said, her regret clear in her soft voice.

"Oh? Who?"

Usagi looked up at Nabiki's eager question, confused. "Why, Dr. Mizuno, of course." Her eyes widened at the lack of recognition on the middle Tendo's face. "You mean you _didn't_ ask her? Dr. Mizuno? The mother of my friend, Ami? The one Akane delivered a letter to, that tested to see if Akane was pregnant?"

Now Usagi's giggles were anything but forced, as she watched the dawning recognition sweep across Nabiki's face. "You _didn't_ ask her, did you. You forgot all about her."

"Oh, that's _perfect_," Nabiki breathed, eyes wide. "Give me back that tablet! What's her number? Wait, Akane should make the call. Akane!" she shouted. "Get your ass over here!"

Even as another thud of body hitting mat sounded, with the added soft thumping of the staff doing the same, Nabiki took a deep breath, closed her eyes, slowly exhaled, opened them again. "No, we can't call, I need to ask in person, with operating anti-surveillance in place."

"Nabiki, I had Ranma on the run until you shouted!" Usagi and Nabiki turned to look at their friend and sister stomping toward them, then past her at the smirking redhead rolling her eyes. "What's so important?"

Nabiki hesitated, and Usagi said, "We're going to Juuban to visit a friend."

"What? But I don't want to leave Ukyo..." a now bewildered Akane said.

"Bring her along," Usagi replied. "The Mizunos won't mind. In fact, Dr. Mizuno will be happy to see her, she's asked me about you and the baby."

"Who?"

Ignoring Akane's confused question, Usagi refocused on Nabiki. "In fact, Ami was just telling me the other day that her mother works too much, can we invite them along on our little tropical vacation?"

"Wait, tropical vacation? What's going on?"

Nabiki ignored her sister, stared at Usagi. "Do you really think she'll do it?"

Usagi nodded. "Yes. As grateful as she is to Set — to Meioh-dono, she knows Ranma made it possible for Meioh-dono to become the Commoners' Lady ... and free her daughter. She thinks she owes you."

Nabiki smiled broadly, and Usagi couldn't help but smile back ... it was the first truly, purely _happy_ smile she could remember seeing on Nabiki's face. Then Nabiki whirled around. "What first, what first ... Usagi, call your friend and find out when we can visit. Kasumi's going to need to pack, I need to arrange more bodyguards and someone to watch the house ... Juuban ..." She snatched her tablet back from Usagi and her bookbag from the floor and rushed out of the dojo.

Ranma, Akane and Nodoka watched her leave, then turned to stare at Usagi.

Usagi bounced in place. "We're going on a tropical vacation, yay!"

* * *

Yes, I know I'm late. Partly that's because of my summer vacation, but also because I did something I almost never do — decide one of my subplots was getting off-track and throw out several days worth of writing and starting over. Hopefully I'll make it pup and still get my next two chapters in before the end of the month, we'll see. However, _next_ month I'll probably be skipping _First Chapters_ next month again (darn it!). I'll be helping a long-time friend and her family move from California to Wyoming, and it'll eat up most of a week. Again, we'll see.

As always, the reviews were great!

**Wharpt:** Thanks for the heads-up, quickly fixed. And yeah, though more of a "wouldn't it be nice" hunger — Nabiki's not stupid enough to actually try to act on it.

**Rose1948:** Yeah, Setsuna's shifting a few pieces here and there, though so far not as hands-on as in the first story. It's a bit more personal this time.


End file.
